


Get a Whiff of This

by bendingsignpost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animals, Bartender Dean Winchester, Dean Has Allergies, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Discrimination, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Omega Dean, Protective Castiel, Sexual Harassment, True Mates, Veterinarian Castiel, Veterinary Clinic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: When no good deed goes unpunished, Dean ends up sentenced to community service for physically defending another Omega at his job. That is, at his former job. It's all a steaming pile of shit, and that's exactly what he has to clean up at the joint animal shelter and clinic he's been assigned to.With a face full of allergies and a horrific mood, all Dean has to do is get through six weeks of this sinus-assaulting torture. That's not so easy with a smartass Alpha receptionist, but at least the weird Beta vet might just end up being kinda cool.





	1. Chapter 1

The entire world reeks of feces and cat piss, right up until Dean’s nose takes one for the team and fucking kills itself. The corpse of his nose clings uselessly to his face, dragging down on his sinuses until his cheeks are a solid block of mucus and pain. His eyes itch. They water, mourning their fallen comrade. Even without direct contact with any of the animals in their cages and pens, his skin fights to spawn hives. He keeps sneezing, and the frankly demonic receptionist keeps laughing.

 

So, yeah: day one of court-mandated community service is going great.

 

Given his own choice, Dean would rather have gone with, oh, let’s see. Anything else. At all. Picking up litter on the highway, that would have been fine. Plus, cars speeding by on the highway are _way_ too fast for people to scream epithets from. Perfect solution.

 

Except no, clearly an Omega offender would do better in an indoor, quiet, _nurturing_ role. With kittens and puppies and all manner of stupid little shit-producers in a fucking animal shelter. All it’s making Dean want to do is go back and finish beating those knotheads to a bloody pulp. The sinus headache isn’t helping either.

 

He funnels his rage into litter boxes and pellet trays that are more rodent poop than pellet. He scrubs a completely filthy sink and then he scrubs an extremely disgusting sink and by the time he’s finished, it’s improved to just being gross. It’s the sink meant for gross stuff, not the sink the vet uses when he comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but it is the sink Dean’s stuck using to wash his own hands. The other volunteers, the ones here freely and happily, don’t seem to mind it as much as Dean does. They’re all teenagers, peppy and happy and doing this out of the goodness of their animal-loving hearts.

 

He’s never going to understand pet people. Ever.

 

Another example of that pops up about three hours into Dean’s first five hour hell shift. He’s going to town on the bottom of a cage a dog had fucking diarrhea in, spraying it with lemon scented cleaner he can’t even smell anymore with his stuffed up nose and aching face, and the hair on the back of his neck rises.

 

Dean twists around. Instinctively, he pulls his ass lower, because if there’s one thing Dean ain’t, it’s stupid enough to bend over with his ass in the air while he can’t smell if it’s an Alpha creeping up on him.

 

This guy, though? Probably not an Alpha. It’s pretty disconcerting not to be able to tell. But somewhere between the baby blue veterinarian scrubs and the kinda confused, kinda blank staring, there’s a bunch of signs that point to Beta. Which are only confirmed by the guy’s reaction after Dean grunts a curt “Yeah?” at him.

 

The vet keeps staring at him with eyes just as blue as his scrubs. “I,” the vet says. And then: “Are you a new volunteer?”

 

“Nope,” Dean says. “I’m a new volun _told_.”

 

“What?” says the vet, frowning.

 

“Look, I’m cleaning your shit for free, what else do you want?”

 

The guy keeps staring at him like someone built a life-sized Veterinarian Ken doll but forgot to stick in a brain before they brought it to life. He just stands there, breathing through his nose like they’re not stuck in the middle of Grand Central Allergy Station, and Dean kind of hates him, just for that.

 

Dean stares back harder.

 

Finally, the vet says, “Is that Oliver’s cage?” He points to the very same mess of plastic, metal and shit Dean’s currently attacking with soap and spite.

 

“You mean the mutt leaking liquid shit out its ass?” Dean asks.

 

“That would be Oliver, yes,” the vet says.

 

“Yeah, you might want to put him somewhere else until I’m done,” Dean says.

 

“I can see that,” says the vet.

 

They stare at each other some more. Dean drops his scrubbing sponge and stands up. Omega or not, Dean’s got about an inch on this guy. Sam’s not the only Winchester who’s a giant for his designation. Even with that extra inch, Dean prepares about three comebacks for whatever bullshit follows his innocuous question, and _then_ asks the question.

 

“You need something?”

 

When Dean says it, he makes it a challenge. When Dean says it, he turns all trace of an offer into a threat. From those assholes at the bar to the animal shelter’s receptionist, Dean’s had more than his share of Alphas taking everything too far, lately.

 

“I need a place to put a dog leaking liquid shit out his ass,” the vet replies, deadpan in the face of Dean’s pent up aggression. He sighs the sigh of a man whose professional problems include canine diarrhea and runs his hand through his already ruffled hair. “Where have you cleaned already?”

 

Dean points. For way too long a moment, the vet stares at Dean’s hand instead of where Dean’s indicating.

 

“Someone hasn’t had his coffee yet,” Dean says, and then the vet’s back to staring at Dean’s face.

 

“I have,” says the vet. The staring goes into re-runs. Hell, it produces a fully remastered anniversary DVD. That’s how much staring there is. “I… didn’t finish the pot,” the vet adds, and he points back over his shoulder to where there might be some sort of break room or something, if Dean had ever bothered to check.

 

“You might want to do that, buddy,” Dean tells him.

 

“You could have some first,” the vet offers.

 

This confused, unthinking piece of kindness throws Dean harder than it should. Way harder. It’s been that kind of month.

 

“Uh,” Dean says, and he looks down at his yellow rubber scrubbing gloves and the suds and the bucket. “Kinda disgusting right now. But. Thanks.”

 

“Of course,” the vet says, and goes right back to staring. They’re too far apart to tell how dilated the guy’s pupils are, but Dean’s earlier assessment is rapidly shifting from awkward Beta to creepy Alpha.

 

“Don’t you have a leaking dog to get back to?” Dean prompts.

 

“Yes,” says the vet, the word a mere filler sound, and then he blinks. “Yes,” he repeats, actually meaning it that time. “I’ll... Excuse me.” He backs down just like that. Hell, he leaves Dean alone immediately. Definitely a Beta, and a whimpy one at that.

 

Another torturous hour passes before the vet wanders in again. Dean’s steadily working his way through yet more crap and shit when he hears the _clink_ of a mug on a counter. Dean jerks around, dropping to his knees from a crouch to better pull his ass in. “Jesus, someone should put a bell on you.”

 

“It’s a fresh pot,” the vet says, ignoring Dean’s comment.

 

Dean frowns, standing to his full height. “What?”

 

“The coffee.” The vet pushes the mug forward all of an inch. He doesn’t come any closer himself, the majority of the room between them. There’s a chemical stab of cleaning products in Dean’s nose, more sensation than smell, but besides that, his sniffer is still down for the count. So there’s no scent coming off the vet, not as far as Dean can tell, and that means he has to rely on his eyes.

 

Shoulders tense. Mouth a little tight. Still fucking staring, but maybe that’s just this guy’s MO.

 

This guy is nervous, not prowling.

 

“What’s with it?” Dean makes himself ask.

 

The vet tilts his head.

 

“Why are you trying to caffeinate me?”

 

The vet’s face falls. “Oh. My apologies. I don’t think we have decaf, no one here drinks it.”

 

“What? No.” Screw Omega health standards. If Dean wants to be buzzed on caffeine or booze, he’s gonna do it. “Caffeine all the way, man. But why is the vet bringing the volunteers coffee?”

 

“I thought you were a ‘voluntold’,” the vet replies, so deadpan despite the finger-quotes that Dean can’t make heads or tails of him without his scent to help.

 

“Doc, you-”

 

“Castiel.”

 

“Gesundheit. Why are you coming around with the drinks tray?” Dean keeps asking, hating how paranoid he must sound. His bartending gig has taught him a thing or two, and even if this is an unlikely location, this is still someone with access to sedatives. Again: it’s been a shitty month.

 

“We can’t afford to lose a hard worker from a bad first day,” Castiel says, almost like he means it. “Meg tells me you haven’t taken a break yet, either.”

 

“Yeah, you’re not getting rid of me.” It’s this, or the huge ass fine Dean can’t afford. Pulling off the rubber gloves, Dean crosses to the less-gross-but-still-gross sink and washes his hands for the thousandth time today.

 

“Oh,” says Castiel, sounding confused but pleased. “I’m glad. You’ve done much more than expected, even with Oliver’s diarrhea to contend with.”

 

Between the bar, the bar’s bathrooms, and the garage, Dean does a lot of cleaning. If it weren’t for the constant sinus migraine frying his brain, this would be just another bad night at the bar. Drying his hands, Dean just shrugs.

 

Castiel looks at the coffee again and so does Dean. Neither of them move.

 

“How come I got stuff to do but you don’t?” Dean challenges.

 

“Lunch break,” Castiel says, very much not eating lunch. He looks at Dean in an unrelenting way that’s like the opposite of fidgeting. He inhales deeply despite the shit and dander and cleaning products. “I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll go.”

 

And then he just… does. Right out of the zoo of this room and down the hall past the exam rooms.

 

Dean stares after him dumbly, because this is not how this interaction goes.

 

Except apparently it is.

 

Feeling weird about it, he drinks the coffee. He might be fired from the bar, but he’s got a shift at the garage after this, headache and all.

  
  


The second day Dean comes in, it’s all very much the same. Meg the receptionist signs off on his community service log to state that Dean has indeed shown up. Dean again spends the time itchy and sneezing and miserable, cursing the fact that decongestants put him right to sleep. He’s started taking one of those over the counter allergy meds without the decongestant, but it’s doing jack shit so far.

 

Castiel shows up again three hours into Dean’s shift. He stops in to nod at Dean but doesn’t stay and talk. He does come back in pretty soon after because someone has left a truly ridiculous number of rats at the shelter, and the animals need to be sorted. At least, that’s the term Dean prefers.

 

That is not the term Castiel uses.

 

“You want me to help you _what_?” Dean asks.

 

“Sex them,” Castiel repeats, not seeing any problem with this. “We need to sort them according to reproductive capabilities so we don’t end up with even more of them.”

 

“Oh,” Dean says. “So you want me to…?”

 

“Keep an eye on the main cage so none escape. I’ll take them out individually,” he says, indicating his gloves.

 

“I can do that.”

 

As it turns out, Dean very nearly can’t, because thirty rats is _too many rats_. They’re supposed to be babies themselves, or at least juveniles, but they’re all the size of adult mice or bigger. They’re less gross than Dean was expecting, but in an unasked for plot twist, the fuckers can climb like champions. They jump, too.

 

With each one Castiel takes out, he starts up a little dialogue with the squirming rodent. Sometimes, it’s a simple “Nearly done, hold still.” Others, it’s a dry yet compassionate “I know, I know.” But he talks to every single one of them as he inspects their tiny genitals or giant ratty balls.

 

“You’re kinda a weirdo, doc,” Dean can’t help saying.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, apparently sincere.

 

“You know my name?”

 

“Obviously,” Castiel says, depositing yet another rat into one of the smaller cages. Alpha male, which seems weird that it’s going with others of its sex with the vet worrying about fighting. They’re lumped in with the Beta males, too, which seems like a recipe for tiny rodent murder. “Open the cage again?”

 

“Raccoon face there’s going to escape,” Dean warns. He opens the door and the vet grabs that one up quickly. “So, uh. That a good idea? Sticking them all together like that?”

 

“Hm? Yes.” With firm but gentle hands, Castiel turns over a rat that looks to be on the Beta side of things. “Now this one needs to be kept separate from everyone until I can fix him.”

 

“What’s wrong with raccoon face?”

 

“Nothing,” Castiel says, quick to assure him. “But lumping all the Omega males together is as bad a mistake as lumping all the Alpha females together.” Castiel sighs with the pain of experience. “I can’t tell you the number of pet owners who come in here bewildered that their omega dogs impregnated each other.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Squirming rat firmly in hand, Castiel looks at him. “What?”

 

“Uh,” says Dean. “How?”

 

Castiel stares back at him. “You’re an adult. You can’t need me to explain this.”

 

“Omega males impregnating each other?” Dean asks, because the fuck.

 

“Of course,” Castiel says, like there’s no other answer. “In most animal species, Omega males and Alpha females play every reproductive role.”

 

“In most species,” Dean says. “But not humans.”

 

Castiel just looks at him.

 

“...yes humans?” Dean asks. Holy shit. He’s always insisted on condoms all around, but he’d always thought it was just an STD precaution on his end. Or, to be precise, on his front. “I could knock someone up?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes skyward and Dean’s newfound ease with him immediately vanishes, preemptively hiding from the mockery of his mistake. Jesus, of course that was a stupid thing to say.

 

“Barring a medical condition, of course you could,” Castiel says, sounding exasperated—but maybe not at Dean. “Most sexual education would tell you otherwise, of course. Ironically, veterinary school taught me more about human biology than traditional schooling ever did.”

 

“I could knock someone up,” Dean repeats. His mind feels like it’s exploding. The number of partners he’s had who have treated his dick like it’s something decorative, it’s, well. It’s the kind of number people typically give an Omega trouble over.

 

Damn.

 

“Provided you had a partner capable of conceiving,” Castiel says, his tone gone jarringly professional. There’s a tightness to his jaw that wasn’t there before.

 

“I mean, I’m not gay,” Dean says, because apparently that’s going to be an issue here. Usually, people tend to get a bit more horny over the idea of an Omega fucking another Omega, but the uptight, offended thing happens too. Dean may not know from personal experience, but his friend Charlie has told him more than enough about it. “I’m just the usual bi, so, y’know. Thinking about the Beta ladies.”

 

Hearing that Dean likes Alphas and Betas doesn’t seem to help the situation any. Castiel’s jaw tightens a little more before he says, “I’m omni.”

 

So Castiel is definitely a Beta, then. It’s weird having to tell by context clues rather than by scent, but only Betas openly admit to liking all three options. Omegas who do are sluts and Alphas who admit to liking knots other than their own, well. Sometimes, it’s better to be a slut.

 

“Okay,” Dean says, nodding, but Cas keeps looking at him like he’s expecting Dean to say more. “So, uh. I mean, I knew about Alpha women being able to have kids. Don’t really hear about omega dads, though. Not that way, anyway.”

 

“It’s the kind of information you have to dig for,” Castiel says, still looking off.

 

Navigating awkward situations without scent is complete bullshit, but Dean presses on with a simple “Yeah?”

 

With that, Castiel starts complaining to Dean about common misconceptions rather than talking to each tiny rat. “That’s not how biology works” is his refrain, and his resigned disgust is hilarious. He has a fantastic rant on how no one actually dies from going into rut without a partner (“The only way you die from a rut is from a sex-induced heart attack”), and Dean can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. His headache actually goes away as the endorphins come out to play.

 

They finish up with sorting the rats, but Dean honestly wants to keep talking to him, even if Cas seems to have run out of his biggest grievances.

 

“What about, shit, what else is ridiculous?” Dean asks, grinning. Castiel smiles faintly back at him, looking the way people get at the scent of happy Omega. Dean’s been reliably informed that he smells like warm pie crust when content, and hell if that doesn’t please him to no end. Oh, there’s a thought: “What about that instant scent-bonding bullshit? True Mates at first whiff, all that bodice ripper crap?”

 

“Dean,” Castiel says, abruptly serious. He’d looked offended before, but this is the first time he’s looked offended at _Dean_.

 

“What?”

 

“Dean, that’s real,” Castiel says.

 

Dean doesn’t mean to laugh.

 

He really doesn’t. But an otherwise brilliant Beta just admitted he sincerely believes in, like, unicorns and shit. In Dean’s defense, he doesn’t laugh long, but Cas shuts down like Fort Knox.

 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Cas says, going as blank to Dean’s eyes as he is to Dean’s stuffed nose. Dean’s ears are still working perfectly well, though, and Cas is _pissed_. His voice is tight and clipped, like Dean’s just personally wronged him. Which, fine, which Dean did. But only a little.

 

Dean spreads his hands because, despite the situation, he’s actually starting to like Cas. The guy might be weird, but he also makes things suck less. “I shouldn’t have laughed,” Dean says like a functioning adult who does not need to go to therapy, no matter what Sam or the court says. He’ll be going anyway, because fines are expensive, but he doesn’t need it. “It’s just, the movies, right? Where the Alpha scents the Omega on the wind and they do that stupid running through the streets thing only for the Omega to get on a bus while still upwind or some crap?”

 

Cas doesn’t soften. At all. His mouth twists before he replies, “You’re right. It’s nothing like the movies.”

 

“So what is it like?” Dean asks. “If it’s real and all?”

 

Cas stares at him long and hard, as if waiting for Dean’s soul to wither up and blow away.

 

“What?” Dean asks.

 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Cas repeats with finality. He picks up one of the cages. “I’m going to have a very busy afternoon now, but I’m sure Meg will be able to give you your next assignment.” With that, Cas blows out of the room, back straight, shoulders tense.

 

Bewildered, Dean stares after him. He ends up going back to the task he was on before Cas popped in with all his talk of rat sexing, and that’s, yet again, scrubbing cages. Dean sprays and wipes and dries and wonders, his headache coming back to the fore.

 

His only conclusion is that Cas must have had an instant scent-bond in the past. The guy’s weird but pretty okay, so Dean’s betting on grief, not separation.

 

Which means Dean’s stepped in it big time.

 

He grits his teeth through the rest of his shift before bringing his community service sheet back to Meg. She looks up from her computer like she’s going to refuse to sign it on principle, and, okay, yes, Dean’s an ass.

 

He holds up his hands and opens with that. Except not with that wording, because if there’s one thing an Omega doesn’t say to an Alpha, it’s announcing that they’re an asshole, presumably waiting to be filled.

 

“So I’m an idiot,” Dean says instead. “I didn’t mean to shit on his feelings, but here we are.”

 

Meg lift her chin and, even seated, somehow manages to look down at Dean. “You apologize to him?” The way she says it, she clearly knows all the details already. Fuck, Cas must actually talk to her.

 

“I tried,” Dean says, and it’s even true. He hands her his sheet. “Now are you going to sign off on this, or do I have to come extra and upset him even more?”

 

With a sigh and clear misgivings, Meg signs both his copy and the one she keeps in the filing cabinet. “Now go away.”

 

Dean salutes and hightails it out of there. He has enough time to dump all his animal-infected clothes in the washing machine and shower before his actual job—the only one he has left—and getting to breathe again is basically the highlight of his entire shitty day.

  


When Dean comes in the next week, everything is even shittier than before. Literally. This isn’t a crapshoot, this is a crap-shot-all-over-everything. Meg smiles at him viciously as she directs him to it. She’s either a complete fuckwad, Cas’ best friend, or both. Dean’s leaning toward both.

 

All of the cushy stuff goes to the other volunteer that day, a younger guy Dean scents as a Beta before his nose completely closes up. Beta dude gets to feed the beasts and then the asshole proceeds to photograph cats and dogs for the shelter’s website while Dean is still stuck on poop duty.

 

Like clockwork, Cas comes in three hours into Dean’s shift once the headache has fully set in. The eyeball itching is getting a little better with the allergy meds, ditto the sneezing, but his sinuses are just as bad as ever.

 

Today, Cas doesn’t even look in on them. His footsteps come down the hall before picking up sharply in front of their door, only to slow back down to a normal gait after.

 

Dean maybe feels kind of bad about that, but only kind of.

 

When Dean’s shift is finally winding down, camera boy has wandered off. So too, Dean discovers, has Meg.

 

Bit of a problem.

 

“Anyone see where the receptionist went?” Dean asks the few people in the waiting area. Looking to adopt? Using the clinic part of the shelter? Dean never really knows.

 

“She’s helping the photographer update the website,” says a bored looking woman around Dean’s age. “Do you know when the vet’s going to be done with my cat?”

 

“I… will check,” Dean makes himself say. Even though he’s not supposed to, he grabs Meg’s copy of his time sheet out of the file cabinet. He’s gotta get out of here before his head splits open.

 

Down through the Staff Only doors, Dean heads to the only room Cas could be in. He makes sure to knock first, and all sounds of motions behind that door stop, like Cas already knows it’s him by scent. Except no one is that ridiculously attuned to someone after meeting only twice, not in this stink and through a door, so it’s gotta be Dean’s footsteps or something registering as Not Meg.

 

“Come in,” Cas calls, and Dean enters.

 

Cas is in blue scrubs today, same as always, and it strikes Dean’s mind as strange that Cas can be this pissed at him without looking any different. He’s not even sure why he cares, except maybe for the fact that Meg is awful and Cas makes things suck slightly less.

 

“Hey,” Dean says, leaving the door open, and Cas takes a deep breath like he’s steadying himself. He’s holding onto the leash of one of those ridiculous little cat walking vests, which is still not quite as ridiculous as the cat’s cone of shame. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but-”

 

“Ask Meg,” Cas tells him.

 

“No idea where she is,” Dean says. “I just need someone who works here to sign this thing and then I can hit the road.”

 

“Can it wait?”

 

Jesus, tetchy much? “Kinda need to get to my real job, buddy.”

 

Either Cas flinches, or his eye twitches. A bad sign all around.

 

Dean holds out the papers with a pen and a hopeful expression anyway.

 

Rolling his eyes, Cas gestures him forward. “Put those down and hold the cat for me.”

 

Dean does as bid, though he definitely holds the very end of the cat’s leash. Leaning over the counter next to the examine room sink, Cas holds the pen over the paper but doesn’t sign. Dean waits, but Cas keeps not signing, rolling the pen between his latex-gloved fingers.

 

“Problem?” Dean asks.

 

“This is court-mandated community service,” Cas says.

 

“Uh, yeah?”

 

Cas turns to look at him, a different kind of frown across his features. He’s like an entire buffet of disappointed looks, this guy.

 

“You didn’t know?” Dean asks, frowning right back. He would have bet money on Meg mentioning his record to Cas before even telling him Dean’s name.

 

Cas takes another one of those long, slow breaths. He closes his eyes like Dean is deliberately fucking with him and he just wants it to stop, but all Dean’s doing is standing there, restraining a cat.

 

“No,” Cas says after too long a pause. “Meg’s more discreet than she looks.”

 

“Okay,” Dean says.

 

Cas keeps staring at him.

 

“I still need you to sign that,” Dean says.

 

After one last pause, Cas checks his watch and signs. “Can I ask what it’s for?”

 

“I’m not going to steal stuff, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“It isn’t,” Cas says. “I mean, I’m not. Worried. I’m… Confused. By you. For obvious reasons.”

 

With the leash in one hand, Dean can only bury one hand in his jacket pocket, but it makes him feel a little better, a little more grounded. A little less like a spectacle, an Omega in trouble with the law. That Cas doesn’t seem to immediately assume prostitution is a small mercy. “Bar fight.”

 

Cas’ frown deepens and Dean gets ready for the usual questions and accusations. Cas goes the light route, only asking “Are you all right?” but Dean’s still tired of it all.

 

“Hey man, I beat the shit out of two Alphas. You don’t need to worry about little ol’ me.”

 

The frown escalates to previously unknown proportions. Dean’s ready for the _what were you thinking_ or the _did the bad Alphas try to touch you_ , but all Cas asks is, “Did they deserve it?”

 

“They roofied a kid, of course they deserved it.”

 

Cas’ visible reaction is limited to the widening of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils as he takes in the inevitable spike in Dean’s scent. “Did they…?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “Asshole made the mistake of drugging the designated driver. Made it pretty obvious that something was up. I had a couple seconds to wonder if I’d fucked up the drink orders, but then this guy and his buddy swooped in to ‘help her home’. Told them to tell me her name—I knew it, I’d carded her anyway, kid was twenty-two with a face like a fourteen year old—and when they couldn’t...” Dean shrugs.

 

“But you’re here instead of them.”

 

“Uh, yeah? Look, are you gonna sign that? I gotta get to work.” Honestly, he’s got a bit of a gap between his shift here and at the garage, but he needs that time to dump his clothes in the laundry and shower off the animal stink.

 

Cas takes a second longer before complying. “It’s a little early for a bar.”

 

“This is the other job.”

 

“You’re working two jobs and doing this?” Cas asks, more incredulous than concerned.

 

“Yeah, and I gotta go,” Dean says like the bar hadn’t tossed him out on his ass. Insistent, he holds out his hand for the sheets.

 

“Of course,” Cas says, and he hands them back over, swapping them for the cat’s leash. “Though the second one says it’s supposed to stay here.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll stick it back on Meg’s desk.”

 

Nodding, Cas looks like he’s about to say something else, but Dean hasn’t got the time.

 

“See you Thursday?” Dean preempts, the words a peace offering.

 

Very faintly, for the first time today, Cas smiles. “You will.”

 

“Cool,” Dean says, then gets the hell out of there.

  


“I’ve been doing research,” Cas says by way of hello. He sets down a mug of coffee while still holding one of his own. “Could I tell you about it?”

 

“Sure you don’t got something better to do?”

 

“My schedule is light today,” Cas says. “Mostly paperwork.”

 

“What, you ran out of rats to snip?”

 

Cas sighs. “We have to wait to make sure none of the females or Omegas are pregnant. So we’re taking a break. You could too.”

 

Straightening up, Dean cracks his back and stretches his arms. The way Cas stares at him turns more appreciative than creepy, which should really only make it creepier. Cas doesn’t encroach on his space or even try to touch him, though. He just looks, and he ain’t bad to look back at, either. Dean’s endured far worse advances from far worse people, and he doesn’t just mean appearance-wise.

 

Dean washes his hands before grabbing his coffee. He follows Cas into the little closet that serves as an office for the vet of the day. Cas sits behind the cramped desk with its regimented piles of papers and folders. Dean doesn’t close the door behind them and Cas doesn’t ask him to. Dean sits in the lightly padded chair and sips his coffee and, _wow_.

 

“Dude, you got the good stuff.” Even with his nose shot to hell, he can tell.

 

“It’s all right,” Cas says, noncommittal in the face of a truly amazing cup of coffee. He looks into his own mug with a tense sort of dread across his features. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

“Research,” Dean says, having some idea where this is going.

 

“I know you find the subject laughable,” Cas says with more than a trace of hurt in his voice, “but I hope you’ll at least listen to the science behind the true mates phenomenon.”

 

Feeling like a jerk, Dean tries to take him seriously. “It’s supposed to be pheromones and shit, right?”

 

“That’s part of it. There are other factors behind scent. Diet. Immune systems.”

 

Diet, Dean can understand, but the immune system thing sends his eyebrows skyward. “Not sure I get it.”

 

“One of the reasons biological siblings smell unattractive to each other is immune system overlap,” Cas explains. “Simply put, the more overlap in the genes, the more limited the offspring’s immune system would be. People with little overlap are very attractive to each other. People with essentially _no_ overlap are what are commonly referred to as true mates.”

 

“Are you saying we can smell immune systems?”

 

“Effectively, yes,” Cas says, nodding. “There’s more, but those are the basics, according to the most recent studies.” And he keeps looking at Dean like he’s expecting… something.

 

“That’s… interesting,” Dean says.

 

Cas keeps waiting.

 

Matching him stare for stare, Dean drinks more of his coffee.

 

“You still think it’s ‘bullshit,’” Cas surmises, doing the finger-quotes. He looks so disappointed that the coffee actually seems to sour in Dean’s mouth.

 

Swallowing, Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, just because someone smells good doesn’t mean you have to act on it. That’s the kind of excuse knotheads use to jump an Omega the week before their heat.”

 

“I’m not saying you have to act on it.” Cas’ voice takes on the tone of someone way too involved in a debate, the way Sam used to let himself get caught up before law school smoothed him out. “I’m aware that two strangers have no real claim on each other nowadays, not on compatibility alone, but the reaction itself is legitimate and medically documented.”

 

“Look,” Dean says, actually trying to be reasonable, “I get this is important to you, but it’s really not my thing. At all. It’s basically the opposite of my thing.” Dean’s not a biology guy. He is, at most, a mechanical engineering guy. Ever since biology betrayed him when he was thirteen, Dean’s had a grudge against the subject.

 

Again, Cas looks so unreasonably disappointed that it’s kind of ridiculous. Dean has no idea where the guy got the idea that Dean was going to be his new science buddy. “You’re very matter of fact,” Cas says, visibly trying to put on a more professional face.

 

“I’m not actually here to start fights, okay? I just gotta put in my hours, and then I can stop stinking up this joint. I can knock it all out in two months if I keep going at this rate.”

 

Cas inhales slowly through his mouth. He exhales just as slowly, something chaotic going on behind his eyes. Dean can either wait for a potential explosion, or he can get the fuck out of there.

 

For once, he goes with option two. Sam would be proud.

 

He stands up slowly, mug in hand. “Thanks for the break. But, uh. That shit won’t scrub itself.”

 

“Dean,” Cas says. Just that, like he’s stalling for time to find a better argument.

 

“Dude, I am literally here for beating a guy who thought ‘but she smelled good’ was a valid defense in court. And, y’know what? It was. So the magical gooey romance of getting high on someone else’s sweat? Maybe not my favorite topic right now.” He backs up rather than turn tail, but he’s had enough practice at it to make the move look casual. It’s all a matter of gesturing as he talks and holding the coffee in front of him.

 

Cas face closes off. All the whirling gears behind those eyes definitely don’t stop, but now Dean can’t see them. That’s somehow worse, especially without being able to scent the air. “I’m sorry,” Cas says, which is a surprise. “I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“It’s an Omega kind of problem, isn’t it?” Dean says with a shrug, now successfully in the doorway. “Anyway, thanks for the coffee, seeya.” He ducks out, all without showing his back. Sam keeps telling him he’s hypervigilant since the fight, but screw that. Maybe Dean just likes making stage turns.

 

Dean likes the cleaning way less, but he’s getting used to it. Time drags on and he keeps listening for Cas’ footsteps, but he doesn’t hear anything. If Cas does look in while Dean’s back is turned, Dean doesn’t see him and he definitely doesn’t scent him.

 

When his shift ends, Meg glares at him hard, but as long as she signs the damn papers, that doesn’t matter. Twenty hours down, forty more to go.

 

“What’s crawled up your ass?” Dean asks like the polite and civil person he always is. He keeps his voice down in the reception room, considering they’re not alone, and that’s more than anyone should be able to expect out of him.

 

“He’s a good person, you know,” she says, like that’s been the subject of debate.

 

“Never said he wasn’t.” Dean folds up his copy before sticking it back in his jacket pocket. “I’m just done with people.”

 

“We’re all done with people,” she shoots back. “Why do you think we work with animals?”

 

“Fine, then let’s all ignore each other.” It’s a bit too far between the reception counter and the front door to do his walking backward thing, but Meg is behind that counter and there are a couple families looking through the display windows at the dogs and cats—and maybe Dean is a little paranoid after all.

 

Meg gives him a look like she can read his mind—yep, make that definitely paranoid—but she waves him away so the next person can step up. One of the happier, younger volunteers will get to show cats to this family, and best of luck to her, because Dean is _gone_.

  


He’s back the next week, because he has to be, and Cas doesn’t bring him coffee again. When he talks to Dean, it’s always quick and professional, always the bare minimum of communication. Having had to sit through one of his court-mandated sessions of therapy over the weekend, Dean’s feeling a little bad about last week, but that’s not important. Cas isn’t his problem.

 

He spends two hours waiting for Cas to make himself Dean’s problem, but it’s almost like the guy is ignoring him instead. Which stings a little. It shouldn’t, but it does.

 

It’s not like Dean actually _wanted_ Cas to leave him alone. Just to stop being weird and start doing his hilarious complaining again. Dean could use something to laugh about, and the need is only growing by the day.

 

His Tuesday shift ends uneventfully and Thursday tries to go much the same way. The hiccup comes when Dean decides it’s time for quick mug of coffee and heads into the break room. He opens the door and there’s Cas, pot in hand, pouring.

 

Cas stares at him. His impression of a deer in headlights would be flawless, provided there are deer that pour scalding coffee on their hands.

 

Cursing, Cas sets down both coffee pot and overflowing mug. Coffee spills on his scrubs and the floor before he can stick his hand under the tap.

 

“You okay?” Dean asks, rushing forward to help. There’s nothing he can do, but the instinct is there. Rather than fuss over the guy directly, Dean settles for slotting the coffee pot back into the machine and pulling out some paper towels.

 

“More surprised than hurt,” Cas answers, sounding annoyed.

 

Dean drops a couple paper towels to the floor before stepping on them and dragging them over the spill with his foot. Cas keeps running his hand under the tap, and he keeps sneaking glances at Dean like he’s not supposed to look or something.

 

“You okay?”

 

Frowning, Cas says, “You just asked me that.”

 

“Not your hand. Your, uh.” Dean makes a vague gesture at all of him. “You.”

 

The staring resumes. It probably shouldn’t feel as normal as it does. Especially not with Cas as unreadable as he is. “I’ll be fine,” Cas says after too long a moment. Another big pause goes by before he adds, “Thank you.”

 

Not knowing what to say, Dean settles for nodding back. When he ducks down to pick up the coffee-sodden paper towels, he pulls them back first to a respectful distance. Putting his head at crotch height is always a bad idea, Beta audience or not. Dean straightens up again as quickly as possible

 

Despite clearly noticing the distance, Cas doesn’t comment on it. He looks sad about it, like Dean’s some goddamn bird with a broken wing Cas wants to fix, but he doesn’t say anything besides, “There should still be some coffee left in the pot.” He pulls a few paper towels off the roll, drying his hands and wiping around his mug.

 

Dean grabs one of the mugs out of the crowded drying rack next to the sink. It means getting close to Cas, reaching past him near enough to touch. Cas’ eyes dilate. His nostrils flare. His cheeks pinken to match his lips, a hilariously juvenile reaction on a grown Beta. But hey, Dean’s an attractive piece of ass and he knows it.

 

Dropping his gaze like he’s the Omega, Cas rocks back on his feet before taking a full step away. He doesn’t call Dean on challenging him either, invading his space by reaching through it.

 

“You _are_ safe here, Dean,” Cas tells him instead, which is the last thing Dean expects to hear.

 

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, not following.

 

“I know it’s inappropriate to mention, but you always smell uncomfortable. For the part I’ve played in that-”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“-I’m sorry.”

 

“Dude, it’s fine,” Dean insists, because he is not fragile. He has a piercing sinus headache, but he’s learning to live with it. Evidently not very well, if Cas can smell the pain on him, but that’s Dean’s problem. Until he finds some allergy meds that work, he should probably wear stronger scent blockers, but what’s the point when he’s just going to go home and shower them off? He doesn’t have that kind of money to waste. In any case: still Dean’s problem.

 

“You’re on edge,” Cas says like he’s some sort of expert on Dean’s emotions. Not even Dean is an expert on Dean’s emotions. Two sessions of court-mandated therapy have forced that little lesson in. “I know you have good cause to be,” Cas continues.

 

“What, Meg’s still gonna beat my ass for hurting your feelings?”

 

Dean means it as a jibe—not that he _means_ it, it’s a reflexive thing—but the corner of Cas’ mouth twitches. “You could take her,” Cas says. “I’ve… Maybe this is also inappropriate, but I googled. About the bar fight.”

 

With that, Dean’s back goes stiff and straight. His scent must do something truly awful, because Cas actually wrinkles his nose.

 

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Cas begins, but Dean interrupts.

 

“Which side of the outrage did you get? The family flipping their shit over the ‘mysteriously untraceable roofie’? Or everybody else pissed at the psycho Omega who beat a pair of Good Samaritan Alphas who were just trying to escort a drugged kid home? ‘Cause they only thought she was drunk and all.”

 

Before Dean even finishes speaking, Cas’ jaw is well and truly clenched. Dean doesn’t need his nose to detect the waves of anger rolling off him. It says a lot about Cas that his clear agitation doesn’t have Dean putting his dukes up either.

 

“That anyone is claiming to believe such blatant falsehoods is ridiculous.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs as if he can throw the whole thing off his shoulders like the embrace of an unwanted arm. “They don’t have to believe it, they just have to say they do.”

 

His back to the sink, Cas glares down into his coffee. His profile is stern but pleasing, like a statue judging lesser beings from its plinth. “For what it’s worth,” Cas says, not looking up, “I’m glad you were there. You’re a good Omega, Dean.”

 

Dean snorts so hard it feels like something just snapped inside his sinuses. “Dude, I’m unmated and childless at thirty-five. I’m a shitty-ass Omega.”

 

Cas looks up at that. “That’s not what I…” His hands tighten around his mug. “I meant, you’re a good person.”

 

Dean shrugs again. It’s his turn to look down at his coffee.

 

“And,” Cas starts to say. He shifts a little, and when Dean looks up, Cas has this tiny, forced smile on his face. “It’s all right. If you don’t want a mate or children, that’s your prerogative.”

 

Dean would snort again, but he already hurt his face enough the first time. “We should get you one of those This Is What An Omeganist Looks Like shirts, man.” Cas looked like he was pulling teeth with every word and probably smelled like it too, but he gets a point or two for the lip service. It’s more than a lot of people give.

 

“I mean it,” Cas says, the smile slipping away to something more serious. Too serious. “I’m forty, unmated and childless, and it’s only a problem because those are things I want.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, because, okay, that was a weird burst of vulnerability there. Cas’ past scent-bonding thing must have fucked him up hard. “I, uh.” Something crowds up behind Dean’s teeth, something he hasn’t told Sam or even Bobby. It’s something he only ever tells doctors, typically when arguing with them. “I want kids, but I don’t wanna _have_ kids, y’know?” He gestures over his belly with one hand.

 

Bizarrely, Cas just nods back at him, still looking so immensely serious.

 

“This is the part where you say there’s no need for an Omega of my age to resort to adoption,” Dean needles, unnerved by Cas’ silence. Then again, Cas spends his days fixing animals, not talking Omegas out of getting fixed themselves. It’s still fucking weird, the lack of judgment.

 

Cas actually rolls his eyes. It’s a full-body motion, his head and upper body brought along for the ride. “Dean, I work at an animal shelter. I am literally pro pro-adoption.”

 

Dean blinks. “So, what, you’d adopt?”

 

Cas nods without hesitation. The smile that accompanies the motion is a little more tentative. “I’d want to foster, first.” Something must change in Dean’s scent, hearing that, because Cas narrows his eyes. “Dean?”

 

“We, uh.” It’s hard to say. Cas already knows he’s a fuck-up, but it’s still hard. He takes a swig of his coffee. “We were foster kids. Me and my brother.” The care home with Sonny had been good—probably the best thing that could have happened, in hindsight—but Bobby coming for them had been piling the miracles on.

 

When Dean dares to look, there’s a thousand and one questions on Cas’ face, but the one that comes out of his mouth is “You have a brother?”

 

Dean stares at him. It takes his brain a second to catch up with the real situation, to drop the imagined one that makes more sense. “Uh. Yeah.”

 

“And you were fostered together?” Cas asks, actually sounding concerned.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking another second to rally. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Bobby grabbed us both.”

 

The concern across Cas’ face abates, but the tension in Dean’s chest doesn’t know whether to tighten or ease. This is a pretty weird set-up for a heart-to-heart, even weirder with Dean not meaning to have it in the first place. It’s not normally the kind of thing that falls out of him. Jesus, is the therapy working? Is this what therapy does to people?

 

“I hadn’t thought about fostering siblings, but it does make sense,” Cas says. Apparently, he’s enough of a weirdo that is conversation looks normal to him. Go figure.

 

“Hard to swing as a single parent, though,” Dean says, thinking of Bobby. He still has no idea how the guy did it. Bobby’s said more than once that Dean was stubborn enough to raise himself, and Sam too, but they all know that’s a load of bullshit.

 

Cas’ face falls like he’s only just thought of the logistics. “Oh,” he says. “That’s.”

 

“Why I haven’t gone and done it already?” He can claim that’s the reason. It sounds nice and responsible and doesn’t involve admitting he’s terrified of screwing up the lives of some kids.

 

“Are you waiting for a mate?” Cas asks his coffee. He looks up at Dean after, head bowed, eyes searching. If he were a dog, his ears would be pricked forward, listening, because he doesn’t know Dean well enough to know that’s a stupid question. Dean’s not mate material. He’s fucked up and stubborn. He’s never going to let anyone breed him. He’s angry and restless and just self-aware enough for it to hurt.

 

So no, he’s not waiting for someone who won’t come. He’s already learned that lesson well enough with John Winchester.

 

Mug in hand, Dean pushes off the counter. “This is shaping up to be a pretty long coffee break, don’t you think?”

 

“I’ve had longer,” Cas says, not moving. The Beta stays right where he is, with none of that Alpha instinct to chase. “It’s a slow day.”

 

“Unless all of the little shitters have stopped shitting, it’s not a slow day for me. I gotta...” He gestures vaguely out the door.

 

“Of course.” Cas presses himself back against the counter, still motionless, still watching. Probably wondering why Dean’s running away from a simple question like a coward.

 

“Seeya later,” Dean says before turning his back and exiting at a totally normal pace.

 

He doesn’t actually see Cas later, not for the rest of his shift. He’s thirty hours down, thirty to go, and then he won’t have to deal with obnoxious Alpha receptionists or confusing Beta vets ever again.

  


On Tuesday, there’s a new volunteer, and Dean hates him the second he smells him. He’s a cocky Alpha in his late twenties, and Dean finds himself eagerly awaiting the moment his nose clogs up. His name might be Derrick or something, but Dean doesn’t fucking care. Just being around the guy’s pungent scent makes Dean want to button his shirt up all the way to the collar and hide his unmarked neck.

 

Despite Dean being in his fourth week there and the guy being on his second day, little Hotshot McAlpha decides he’s going to show Dean the ropes. Unfortunately for the condescending little knothead, Dean isn’t as stupid as he looks.

 

“Can you show me again?” Dean asks, and the idiot shows him again, scrubbing this and that while Dean stands there and pretends to watch.

 

“Man, this is really heavy,” Dean says, and the idiot takes the bucket out of his hands despite Dean having four inches on him.

 

“That’s gross, you gotta wash your hands,” Dean says, and the idiot stops trying to touch him on his back or arms every time he gets close enough.

 

It’s a contest of pettiness and oblivious digs, and Dean makes sure never to bend over or kneel down with the guy anywhere near him, in front or behind. So Dean complains about his back while they’re doing the low cages and refers to possibly-Derrick as “a young thing like you” and that takes care of that. It’s still fucking annoying, and the guy is constantly in Dean’s way, constantly trying to get Dean to listen to him, and constantly in need of a fist to the face.

 

When Cas finally comes in for his shift, he stops by, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

 

“Morning, Doctor Novak,” possibly-Derrick says with an unexpected amount of deference from an Alpha like him to a Beta. It’s probably Cas’ position of authority, plus the age and height.

 

“Hello, Derrick,” Cas says, his eyes flicking past Derrick almost immediately. He smiles faintly. “Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean can’t help smiling back. “Hey, Cas.”

 

The way Derrick bristles at that makes Dean doubly glad his nose has died for the day. Derrick stands up taller, chest puffing out like Cas is horning in on his claim. “You two already know each other?”

 

Cas frowns. “Dean’s been here all month. And he’s usually done with two-thirds of this room by the time I come in.” He looks back to Dean. “Has there been another Oliver incident?”

 

“Diarrhea dog? Nah, just supervising.” The betrayed look on Derrick’s face would be tragic if it weren’t so fucking funny. “Kid’s slow but thorough.”

 

“Good. If you’ve finished training Derrick, would you mind moving on to the small mammals room?” Cas asks. His nostrils flare, clearly scenting the upset that’s got to be wafting off the knothead, but his expression never wavers. “Some of the dogs do need walking, but you’ve the best track record not letting rodents escape.”

 

“Sure thing, doc. Seeya, kiddo.”

 

He has no doubt there’s going to be some equally petty payback the next time he’s alone with the kid, but after the three hours he just had, he doesn’t give a shit. It’s one thing when Bobby has Dean train new hires at the garage. Dean’s a not-so-secret test that Bobby’s been using to suss out idiots for years; it’s reached the point where any mechanic with an ear to the ground knows to listen to Dean or end up out on their ass. But that’s with Bobby. It’s a hell of a different thing without anyone to back him up.

 

The next two hours pass in a tense drag Dean hates. It’s not like anything’s gonna happen, but he’s still jumpy. A tension headache joins forces with the sinus pain, but Dean keeps at it. He changes litter and pellets. He removes wilted pieces of vegetables. He scrubs. Rats hang out on the sides of their cages to watch him while the guinea pigs hide and the ferrets refuse to give a shit. It’s small, beady eyes all around.

 

He finishes the scrubbing and moves on to feeding the little things. He carefully gets a cage door closed without letting any rats escape, and the door to the room opens. Cas knocks on the door frame, but Dean’s already looking.

 

“What’s up, doc?” Dean asks, and no, he doesn’t do the voice, only the joke.

 

“I thought I’d check in,” Cas says, entering. He closes the door behind him, standard protocol for any of the rooms with animals in them. As to be expected, Cas has a mug in hand. As isn’t to be expected, he crosses to Dean and holds it out. “Fresh pot.”

 

“Lemme just, uh.” Dean sticks down the ziplock bag of veggies somewhere no tiny teeth or claws can get at it through cage bars. “Thanks.” In accepting the hot mug, their hands touch only a little. Cas does have some pretty nice hands. “Now what’re you buttering me up for?”

 

“There’s been a complaint,” Cas says, looking like Dean’s caught him out. “But I’d like to hear your side of it first.”

 

“This about the kid?”

 

Cas nods. “How would you classify your interactions?”

 

“He’s a condescending knothead who decided I needed to be shown the ropes. So I let him. Let me guess, he’s complaining that I made him do all the work?”

 

“Essentially,” Cas says. “I think a fair solution would be having you work in different rooms from now on. He’ll only be in on Tuesdays, so you won’t have to see him again this week.”

 

Dean shrugs like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t bother him that Cas has to step in to separate them like children. “Works for me. But shouldn’t Meg be the one micromanaging us?” It’d be better if she were; Dean doesn’t give a crap what she thinks of him.

 

Cas gets that guilty set to his shoulders. “Derrick complained to me, and I didn’t want to risk Meg taking his side.”

 

Dean snorts. “Look at you, suckered in by a pretty face.”

 

Cas doesn’t look half so amused. “You’re more than a pretty face.”

 

“Right, can’t forget my ass.”

 

Cas rolls his eyes. “Your pretty everything aside, I enjoy talking to you, Dean.”

 

With no idea what to say, Dean drinks his coffee. He settles for a skeptical “Uh-huh.”

 

“If there are any other problems, tell me.”

 

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dude, I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

 

“No,” Cas says, “but the shelter does need me to enforce the anti-harassment policy. And I think you’d benefit from not punching more Alphas for at least a little while.”

 

Dean shrugs. “My knuckles healed up, I’m good for more.”

 

Cracking a smile, Cas turns away to hide it, but Dean sees it anyway. He surprises himself by grinning back.

 

“We good?” Dean asks. “I mean, with. With the thing. The complaint thing.”

 

Cas nods. “I’ll leave you to finish up. Unless there was something else you wanted to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve taken any breaks today.”

 

Another shrug. “Who needs breaks?”

 

“Everyone,” Cas says without hesitation. “I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to take one, but I will say it would gain you the moral high ground.”

 

“Only if I was telling you to take one, too.”

 

“There is that.”

 

Cas stares at him too long again, but the dude must be contagious because now he’s got Dean doing it too.

 

“Thanks for the coffee,” Dean makes himself say.

 

Cas nods, clearly accepting that as the dismissal it is. “Of course. I’ll just...” He gestures over his shoulder toward the door. He takes a few steps back.

 

“Not take that break?”

 

“Exactly.” His eyes are very blue and only focused on Dean. He bumps into the counter beside the door and finally looks away, startled. It’s kind of stupidly adorable, in an awkward way. Cas turns to open the door and takes a deep breath of the hallway air, like maybe the stink of cleaner is getting to him. “I’ll see you Thursday?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. “Kinda have to be here and all.”

 

“...Right,” Cas says. He shakes his head like he’s fighting to clear it. Dean must have had too heavy of a hand with the cleaner, not being able to smell it. “Sorry.”

 

“Maybe you should take that break,” Dean says, watching him with equal parts amusement and concern. “Just, y’know. Not in here.”

 

“Sorry,” Cas says again, ducking out and closing the door behind him. His footsteps quickly move down the hall, leaving Dean in a strange relative silence.

 

Jesus, what a weirdo.

 

Grinning to himself, Dean finishes the coffee and gets back to work.

  


In Thursday, the volunteer force is back down to Dean and an elderly Beta whose apparent job is to brush all of the cats. They each do their thing, keeping well out of the other’s way, and the time passes. Dean’s counting down the hours, but his brain must be playing tricks on him or something, because the countdown is only until Cas gets there.

 

Then it’s two more hours to go. Two hours waiting but not tense.

 

The full two hours pass without Cas stopping by. Must be a busy day or something.

  


On Tuesday, Dean is a rational human being who doesn’t need to punch anyone. He is steadfastly a rational human being, even if the need to punch does become an issue. It’s one thing to be punished for doing the right thing; it’s another to have it continually shoved in his face.

 

Dean’s dealt with worse than a snot-nosed idiot child pretending to be an adult, but it fucking _rankles_ today. His nose is full of Derrick’s awful Alpha stink. Even Meg’s scent is bothering him today, but eventually Dean’s nose clogs up to make him deal with a more literal kind of pain.

 

Aggravatingly, it’s not just Derrick and Meg who have been offending Dean’s nose like sun-baked roadkill. It’s been happening at the garage too. Bobby and Jo are still have that inoffensive Beta scent, but Rufus and Benny? Damn, it’s getting bad. Their scents haven’t actually changed, but they’re just annoying now. Incessant. Like some kind of olfactory pop-up ad he keeps having to click through to get on with his day. Sam, at least, still smells like home, but literally every other Alpha is putting Dean’s back up.

 

Needless to say, it made their Saturday night poker game suck. For Dean, at least. For Jo the table shark, not so much.

 

The point is, something’s up with Dean’s nose, something’s that making even Dean-approved Alphas smell like shit. (Not that Benny and Rufus aren’t pieces of shit—it’s why they’re friends.) Wondering about the change, Dean’s already inspected the only other change in his life and found the culprit that way.

 

It’s his goddamn allergy meds. Side effects may include drowsiness, dry mouth, and fucking scent distortion. If they didn’t stop the hives and the infernal itchiness of his eyes, he’d stop taking them, because this is annoying as hell. How much worse could his sinus headaches be?

 

...Better not risk it.

 

He grits his teeth through the day until he hits the three hour mark, and then he’s out of the small mammals room and into the break room. Some asshole finished off the coffee without making a fresh pot, one guess who. After washing his hands, Dean sets about making a new one. It’s not difficult in the slightest, something Dean’s done a thousand times in Bobby’s kitchen or his own, but when Dean looks up, Cas is stopped in the doorway, trench coat still on over his scrubs, looking at Dean like Dean’s performing miracles.

 

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,” Dean says, already reaching for the cabinet with the mugs. He pulls out a pair, making sure to grab the stupidly cutesy one for Cas. It’s got pictures of fluffy bunnies frolicking under rainbows and shit. It’s hideous. Grinning at the awful sight, Dean glances back over to Cas only to find the guy looking pale and uncomfortable. “Caffeine addiction?” Dean prompts, because Cas has clearly grabbed hold of the wrong end of some groggy, sleep-deprived stick.

 

“Oh,” Cas says, still not moving.

 

Dean pours for the hideous mug first, for his own blue one second. He carries both mugs to the doorway and pointedly offers Cas the hideous one.

 

Cas takes it like no one’s ever passed him a drink before. “Thank you.” The way he’s looking at Dean now, it’s gone beyond miracles. The cutesy mug might as well be the Holy Grail, that’s how reverently Cas takes it from Dean’s hands.

 

“Looks like you need it.”

 

“Yes,” Cas says, still staring at Dean. His gaze lowers for only an instant while he drinks, a cursory check to make sure the mug’s lip is meeting his own. When he drinks, his eyes finally close and it’s Dean’s turn to stare like a weirdo. When in Rome.

 

After Cas swallows, he exhales a blissful sigh. He’s kind of stupidly beautiful, like someone hired an amateur actor for a coffee commercial and completely fucked up on the wardrobe. His eyes open again, even bluer than today’s faded scrubs, and then they’re staring at each other.

 

Dean wonders what he smells like.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says again, like he needed this, like he’s had the worst week of his life.

 

Dean shrugs. “It’s just coffee, man.”

 

“Even so,” Cas says, and Dean can’t help but remember his first day. Resentful and itchy and so damn surprised that someone would offer him anything.

 

So, no, it’s not just coffee.

 

Dean looks down at his mug before clearing his throat. “I should get back to it,” he says at the same time Cas says, “Dean.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says.

 

“Next week is your last week.”

 

“There supposed to be a question in there?”

 

“You don’t need to answer this right away,” Cas says, like he’s about to lay down an essay question or a full survey or something.

 

“Okay…”

 

“After next week,” Cas says, expression carefully neutral, his large hands clasped tight around his mug, “can I expect to see you again?”

 

“No.” Dean doesn’t even need time to think it over. He’s got a little less than seventeen hours left to suffer through, and then he can return to a pet-free existence without splitting headaches and weird medication side effects. Cas is the only silver lining to this place, but one Beta does not sufficient incentive make. “No offense,” Dean’s quick to add. “I mean, you’re cool and all, but, uh. All this? Not shaping up to be a long-term thing with me.”

 

“Oh,” Cas says like Dean just kicked one of the many puppies. He recovers well, but it blows Dean’s mind that Cas has to recover at all. Yeah, sure, the guy’s at least moderately attracted to Dean—and who can blame him—but wanting someone sure as hell isn’t the same as liking them.

 

“I mean,” Dean begins with no idea where he’s going, but Cas cuts him off.

 

“I understand.” Lowering his voice, Cas adds, “There’s always an undercurrent of discomfort in your scent. I only asked because it’s been decreasing somewhat.”

 

The kicker is, Cas actually looks disappointed. Like he actually gets something out of their brief, infrequent chats. Worse still, Cas looks disappointed _and trying to hide it_. The sight nudges a little something in Dean’s chest, the bit that brings up going out for coffee or drinks, the bit that decides whether to give an Alpha his number or ask a Beta for theirs.

 

“Well, uh,” Dean says.

 

“I should get to work,” Cas interrupts and, okay, sure, he’s still wearing his coat. Dean intercepted him right off the bat.

 

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, and that’s Cas scurrying away. Dean doesn’t see over the rest of his shift, but when Dean gets signed out by Meg a couple hours later, she’s still complaining about Cas’ late start throwing them off. Not being a dumbass, Dean refrains from confessing his involvement.

  


On Thursday, Dean actually thinks about giving Cas his phone number. He thinks about it on his drive there. He thinks about it while scrubbing shit and urine, while washing his hands, while grabbing a coffee. He overthinks it.

 

Because it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Cas is just this weird, awkward Beta who is surprisingly hilarious when he complains about people being wrong about biology. He’s kind of hot. He knows at least of piece of how fucked up Dean is, and he still wants Dean to keep volunteering.

 

But he’s also had some kind of major scent-bonding thing in the past. Maybe he’s over it, maybe he isn’t, but that’s a large amount of baggage to carry and Dean’s no bellhop.

 

The deciding factor ends up being Cas himself. Whatever’s going on with the guy today, there’s some sort of stick up his ass, and it’s in there deep. He no longer smiles when he says hello, and Dean’s the one who had to track him down just to get the greeting out of him. After that terse exchange, Cas hightails it away with the weak excuse of paperwork.

 

Watching Cas walk away is… annoying. Mixed signals typically are, but this is worse than usual for some reason.

 

Screw it. It’s not like it would have worked out anyway.

  


Dean’s nose continues to be off all weekend. It’s driving him nuts, and it’s pretty much spread to everyone. Even Sam’s scent is off, less like home and more like a musty, unused room no one lives in anymore.

 

It’s kind of freaking Dean out. A lot. Not enough to stop taking his allergy meds just yet, but close. He’s only got ten hours left to put in, and he can’t be finished with it quickly enough.

 

Tuesday rolls around and Dean is rewarded for all his pain and suffering with a pleasant surprise: Derrick isn’t here today. Or at least he’s going to be late, which means there’s one fewer truly obnoxious Alpha stink Dean has to suffer through before his nose clogs up.

 

Dean gets through with the small mammals room in no time at all and is back to cleaning out the larger cages in the main holding room. They’re stacked cages for the most part, and while the top ones are okay enough, the ones on the bottom require that he get on his hands and knees for the scrubbing. He saves those for last, or rather, Meg does. She abandons the front desk to shift the animals around to let Dean get in there and clean without getting clawed. She does it with the same annoyed set to her jaw and general eye-rolling she always treats Dean with, but at least she does it for him. Dean’s no cat-wrangler.

 

She comes back in to switch them around again, and Dean waits for her to leave the room before starting on the bottom row. He can deal with wisecracks about him being face-down, ass up, but that doesn’t mean he has to literally present for them. Maybe Meg isn’t the kind of Alpha to grind her crotch against an Omega’s raised ass or “jokingly” mime it, but Dean’s had enough of that bullshit from high school alone to last him a lifetime. There’s a reason he dropped out. He still avoids water fountains.

 

Once the door is securely closed, Dean turns the radio back on and gets down to it. Ducking his head down, he’s half inside the deeper-lower cages for the bigger dogs as he cleans them. All the while, the countdown in his head has finally arrived at _three hours down, two to go_.

 

Time for Cas to show. And a backache is a good reason for a coffee break. He’ll give it a little while, maybe fifteen more minutes of drudgery. Then again, if he doesn’t catch Cas on the way in, Cas might do his avoiding thing again today and…

 

And that’s why Dean shouldn’t go chasing after him like a dumbass. Dean had been so certain that Cas was into him—subtlety was _not_ the guy’s strong suit—but by virtue of being Dean Winchester, he must have fucked it up somewhere. Probably with the not volunteering anymore thing. Pet people really love the damn things; Dean shouldn’t be surprised Cas has written them off as incompatible over that.

 

Not that Dean cares. Much. It was just a thought. A little one. That is slowly and inexplicably driving him nuts.

 

Dean shuffles over on his knees to start on the next cage. Naturally, it’s only once he has his upper body inside that he hears the door crack open. With the radio playing, he doesn’t hear much else, but he doesn’t hear the door close again either.

 

Cas is in the doorway, staring at his ass. Or maybe just staring at him, the way he’s always staring at Dean. Dean doesn’t turn to look, doesn’t risk startling him away, not when Cas is finally approaching him again. Or at least thinking about it. Cas is definitely thinking about it, standing there and not going anywhere.

 

Dean helps him along with the decision, just a little. He does an in-and-out scrubbing motion on the cage floor, reaching in far before pulling back out. It’s probably the stupidest way he’s ever seduced someone, but he’s been told what he looks like in these jeans, even when it’s something he’d rather not hear. And it’s not like he’s flexing his ass or anything. He’s just doing exactly what he’d be doing anyway, except this time, he’s not going to stop just because he has an audience.

 

“Get out,” Cas snaps, a low growl of an order that has Dean smacking his head on the roof of the cage.

 

“Whu-”

 

“C’mon, I was joking,” says an entirely different voice, and Dean’s blood runs cold. Because Cas’ voice was from the _hall_ , not the doorway.

 

Dean drags himself out of the cage, turns on one knee, and it’s Derrick in the room with him instead. But Derrick’s not looking at him anymore, no, not when he’s got Cas to contend with.

 

“I don’t find it amusing,” Cas shoots back, shouldering past Derrick to get into the room between them. “Get out.”

 

“Are you serious? I can’t open a door if there’s an Omega in the room?”

 

“You gestured me over to leer at him with you,” Cas says flatly.

 

“Yeah, as a _joke,_ ” Derrick protests.

 

“That kind of behavior isn’t tolerated here.”

 

“The Omega here wasn’t protesting.” Derrick points at him without even looking. Dean plants his feet and doesn’t fucking move, because the last thing he needs is to go back on trial for assault.

 

“Dude, I can’t smell shit in here,” Dean says, fighting down a fresh batch of shame as well as the anger. He hadn’t even thought to check in case it wasn’t Cas. “Allergies like mine, the entire break room could be on fire and I wouldn’t know.”

 

“Oh come _on_ ,” Derrick says, but Cas cuts him off with a raised hand, a quiet but firm signal to shut the fuck up as he resumes his staring routine right at Dean.

 

“What did you say?” Cas asks, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

 

“I couldn’t smell him,” Dean repeats. Then, covering his own ass, he lies, “Didn’t know there was anyone there, with the radio on.” He shrugs, because as much as he’d enjoy watching Derrick get his ass reamed out for being a creep, it’s honestly not that big of a deal. Dean’s had worse in high school. Hell, in middle school.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, still sounding distracted despite the obvious anger in his face. He tries to turn his gaze on Derrick but keeps glancing back to Dean. It’s weird, almost a little comedic, and makes no sense whatsoever. “Dean, please resume your work. I’ll handle the situation.”

 

With that, Cas steers a still-protesting Derrick out of the room. Dean closes the door firmly behind them before shutting off the music. He stands there a minute more, not sure what to do.

 

If Cas wants to blow the whole thing out of proportion, Dean’s not about to stop him. But when he thinks about getting back to the task at hand, his hackles go up like the world’s angriest helium balloons. No, he’s not getting back on his hands and knees any time soon.

 

Despite leaving the job half-done on the bottom row, Dean switches down the hall for the small mammal room. He catches an angry murmur from the other direction, through the door to Cas’ office. Making himself shrug it off, Dean gets back down to business.

 

Slowly. Stupidly slowly. He’s not trying to overhear—he can’t overhear, not with two closed doors and a hall in the way—but he’s still listening as hard as he can over the chatter of rodents and the noises he makes cleaning out their cages. He can’t seem to make himself stop, and it’s ridiculous.

 

No Alpha actually gets in trouble just for staring at an Omega’s ass. Whatever Cas is trying to pull here is a goddamn mystery to Dean. If it weren’t so absurdly over-the-top, Dean would be fucking annoyed Cas thinks that little of Dean’s ability to handle things himself—but then, Dean’s ability to handle things himself is what landed him here in the first place.

 

So Dean scrubs and he stews. He wonders and he waits. Finally, maybe five, maybe ten minutes later, he hears angry footsteps stomping down the hall and past his door, towards the lobby of a waiting room. He keeps his motions quiet and his eyes on the door, and it’s completely moronic, the way he jumps when someone knocks on it.

 

When a grand total of nothing happens, Dean clears his throat and calls, “Yeah?”

 

The door cracks open just enough to let Cas poke his head through. Literally just enough. It’s like Cas’ head and his arm are at odds, his upper body trying to make it through the door, his arm attempting to close the door on himself. All told, just as awkward and weird as Dean’s grown to expect from the guy.

 

“Derrick has left the building and knows he isn’t welcome back,” Cas tells him.

 

Dean snorts, a motion his sinuses immediately regret. “And people call me over-sensitive.”

 

Cas’ already hard face turns stonier. “He invited me to leer at you with him,” Cas says like he finds this excruciatingly offensive instead of just the way of the world. “When I took him aside, he referred to you and your entire designation in a crude and derogatory manner. If disliking that makes me over-sensitive, then I will be over-sensitive.”

 

Dean shrugs back at him, for once not sure what to say. “All right, well. If that’s everything…”

 

It’s everything. It’s not like they’re going to be filling out incident reports to the police for some twenty-something Alpha being a creep and a jerk.

 

“I,” Cas says, and he kinda freezes there. “I was, um.”

 

“You’re breaking policy, is what you’re doing.”

 

Cas blinks, owlish, right down to the tilt of his head. “I am?”

 

“Small mammal room?” Dean points out.

 

Still trying to cut himself in half with the door, Cas looks around like he has no idea what’s going on.

 

“Dude, it’s in or out. The door stays shut.”

 

“Oh,” Cas says. Very slowly, like he’s expecting Dean to startle or something, Cas edges inside the room. He closes the door behind him but then stands to the side of it, practically pressing against the wall. If Dean could smell him right now, he’d probably be sour with distress, maybe sharp and metallic with anger.

 

“You okay?” Dean asks despite the answer being a very obvious _no_.

 

Another blink, just as owlish as the first. “Me?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You see anyone else in here?”

 

“Yes,” Cas says. “Are _you_ all right?”

 

“Uh, yeah? Dude, that was barely middle school levels of Alpha bullshit.” They’d had half-lockers. Dean’s had been a bottom one, and the grab-and-grind had been a popular prank once everyone started presenting. Even beforehand, depending on the kid.

 

Cas nods like he doesn’t believe Dean, but then, Dean never did finish up with the dog cages after that interruption. “I’m sorry,” Cas says, and he sounds like he means it for a lot of things. “I have one question, but then I’ll leave you alone.”

 

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, waiting for the _are you sure you didn’t know he was there_ or the _if you didn’t want the interest, why were you presenting?_

 

“You really can’t smell anything?” Cas asks instead, which is a weird thing to sound hopeful about.

 

Dean’s brain takes a hard left turn, threats of oncoming traffic be damned. “What?”

 

With a growing frown, Cas continues, “Before. You said you couldn’t smell anything in here. Your allergies are that bad?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, still at a loss as to where this is going. “Anything with decongestant in it knocks me right out, so I’m stuck with this over the counter crap that doesn’t do shit. Kinda why the volunteering gig can’t be a long-term thing.”

 

Cas isn’t frowning anymore, but his eyes have gone very round.

 

“What?” Dean asks.

 

“Are you… experiencing any other symptoms?” Cas asks, piecing his question together with obvious care. “Anything olfactory-related.”

 

“Yeah, actually,” Dean says, blinking. “Everybody’s been smelling weird to me for a couple weeks. That’s, uh, scent distortion, right? I get the rare side effects, lucky me.”

 

Cas’ eyes have gone even rounder. Like he’s simultaneously trying to hold his breath and get the words out, he asks, “Do I smell ‘weird’ to you?”

 

Dean shrugs, but there’s no shrugging his way out of this personal question. “You’re probably fine? It’s only really bad with Alphas, Betas aren’t so warped.”

 

Cas’ face does this thing. This rapid series of expressions, none of them able to fully form before the next one pops up. It’s probably best described as a contortion of disbelief, and without a scent to guide him, Dean can’t get a better read on the guy than that.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, his tone careful but firm, not at all tentative. “Do you think I’m a Beta?”

 

Dean stares at him. “...yes…?”

 

Cas stares right on back.

 

“No…?” Dean tries again.

 

“No,” Cas agrees.

 

For one bizarre, fleeting moment, Dean wonders if Cas is an Omega too. Taking Dean’s side on all the bullshit, believing him, getting pissed on his behalf. The pro-adoption stuff. Not being a knothead.

 

But then the rest of the pieces reassert themselves. A job in an Alpha-dominated field. Derrick giving in to Cas’ authority. Cas’ unquestioning confidence that he would. That was Alpha through and through.

 

“Okay,” Dean says, only really fucking embarrassed, “in my defense, I can’t smell shit, and you’re not a douchebag.”

 

Cas keeps staring at him like… like Dean doesn’t even know what. Like it’s the funniest thing Cas has ever heard or something, maybe. Because that definitely makes more sense than Cas being, Dean doesn’t know, _relieved_ or something. It’s a pile of signals Dean can’t hope to follow.

 

“Look, if you’re gonna laugh or whatever-”

 

“You’ve always smelled so uncomfortable,” Cas interrupts. “I thought you knew.”

 

“What, you’ve never heard of a sinus headache?” Dean asks right back.

 

The staring ramps up even higher, and for Cas, that’s saying something. “I don’t make you uncomfortable?”

 

Dean actually laughs. When the staring only continues, Dean adds, “Uh, no?”

 

“Oh,” Cas says, and he looks like there’s this massive paradigm shift going on inside his head.

 

Then he smiles at Dean, bright and wide, better than Dean’s ever seen him. He is so suddenly, so devastatingly attractive that Dean almost says something stupid like _you’re the only good thing about this place_ or _I thought it was you staring at my ass and I kinda liked it_.

 

Fortunately, though Dean might be stupid, he’s not _that_ stupid.

 

Instead of any of that, he settles for clearing his throat and saying, “If I get you behind schedule again, you know Meg’s gonna come at me with a shovel, right?”

 

“She’ll have to go after Derrick today,” Cas says, but he does reach for the doorknob.

 

Dean grabs the trash bag and the bag of fresh litter before realizing that Cas isn’t actually heading out just yet. “Something else?”

 

Looking at him intently, Cas nods. “Thursday is your last day, isn’t it?”

 

“Aww, you remembered.” Dean lets the sealed litter bag topple over to better press a hand over his heart, a mocking image of the stereotypical swooning Omega. Then the obvious implication of that question sets in: “Wait, are you bringing in food? Is there gonna be food?”

 

The face Cas makes is surprised and amused and, so quickly Dean probably imagined it, shockingly fond. “I hadn’t planned on it, but there can be. More to the point...” Cas’ smile fades into a line of determination. “Would you mind staying after for… fifteen minutes? For a debriefing.” It’s like he somehow knows how desperate Dean is to get out of this place and never come back or something.

 

“Will those fifteen minutes have food?” Dean asks, already planning on staying anyway.

 

“There will be food,” Cas promises seriously.

 

Dean grins. “Yeah, I’ll stick around.”

 

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean has to wonder if he smells as relieved as he sounds. Relief is a good scent on most people, like clean sheets fresh from the dryer. Maybe Cas smells like that and maybe he doesn’t; it’s a mystery Dean will have to endure going unsolved.

 

“Yeah, no problem, doc,” Dean says. “Should probably get back to this.” He shrugs at the room in general. “Earn my keep.”

 

“Dean, you’re already more efficient than most of our volunteers. Including the ones who want to be here. If you wanted to take a break after everything-”

 

“I’m good.” Busy is better. And the sooner Cas stops treating it like a big deal, the sooner Dean can too. Dean gets back to work with Cas still there, in the hopes that a demonstration might sink through. It doesn’t seem to, Cas still standing there and watching him like Dean’s gonna change his mind any second now. “What is this, Alpha Staring Day?”

 

Cas jerks to attention, going pale and clearly reading too far into the joke. “I apologize, I-”

 

“Dude,” Dean interrupts. “I was kidding.”

 

“Oh,” says Cas, not looking terribly reassured. He inhales deeply, far more more of a monitoring scenting than a creeper’s savoring sniff. Because Dean probably still smells distressed and shit.

 

“Headache, remember?” Dean says. “C’mon, man, either help or get out.”

 

“Meg really would come after you if I did,” Cas says, looking only a little steadier.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. With Cas acting like this, Dean’s less and less embarrassed about mistaking Cas for a Beta. What kind of Alpha tiptoes around this awkwardly? “Coffee break in an hour?” he offers entirely for Cas’ benefit. Otherwise, the guy’s going to be trying to check in on him for the rest of Dean’s shift, no doubt about it. Might as well set a time for it.

 

“Yes,” Cas says, then checks his watch. “Yes. I’ll...” He gestures to the door.

 

“Yep,” Dean says.

 

They each watch each other watch the other, staring way too long. Cas clears his throat and gestures again. Then he’s gone, and Dean’s staring at the door instead. Even once Dean kicks himself into gear, he’s still moving on automatic for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see what else I'm up to or get (potentially) faster responses to questions and comments, follow me on [tumblr](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading, everybody, and I'll see you next week for the conclusion!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Dean's last day of community service, he and Cas have a chat.

By the time Dean reports in on Thursday morning, his brain has done some weird shit. Like, he actually wants to tell his therapist this weekend about what happened on Tuesday. That’s pretty weird. But Dean’s not sure if he’s under-reacting or if Cas is overreacting, so many some perspective wouldn’t be the worst thing.

 

What _might_ be the worst thing is Sam’s response. Not to the Tuesday pervy staring thing, no, Dean didn’t mention that and isn’t going to. Sam doesn’t need to ever, _ever_ hear that his big brother can’t hack it. Dean was just trying to bring up how weird Cas is, all awkward in his protectiveness, like Dean needs to be shielded from him too. Because that’s pretty laughable, right? (He’d wanted Sam to laugh.)

 

But Sam had gotten a little sidetracked by the whole “Wait, Cas is an Alpha?” thing. It was an honest mistake and totally understandable under the circumstances, but Sam refused to see it that way. (He’d not wanted Sam to laugh at _that._ )

 

Another thing fucking up Dean’s brain is the way Sam had responded to “Funny thing about the vet at the place” with “You mean Cas?” As if Dean’s actually talked to Sam about Cas before at all. Or more than a little. The significant look Sam had somehow managed to give him _over the damn phone_ hadn’t helped at all either.

 

Also not helping is Dean’s goddamn brain itself. The mental readjustment from Beta to Alpha has had a domino effect. There’s nothing like having the conscious mind edit previously subconscious fantasies.

 

Dean’s maybe kinda low-key crushing on an awkward dork of a veterinarian Alpha. Sue him.

 

An awkward omnisexual dork, which might explain some of the awkward. Dean’s got nothing against a little Alpha-on-Alpha action—his browser history is proof enough of that—but there are definitely those who do. And Cas had trusted him with that.

 

Cas takes his side in shit, ridiculously so. The outcome of the court case was a travesty, Cas says. Dean shouldn’t have to put up with having his ass stared at in the clinic, Cas says. Dean brings up wanting to adopt, and Cas doesn’t say a thing about Dean needing to get knocked up. Hell, Cas brought up wanting to be a foster parent on his own.

 

On the surface of it, Cas is a shitty Alpha. But then, thinking about it—over-thinking about it—this is the difference between being territorial and being protective. Dean sure as hell doesn’t need protecting, but he’d take it over being considered territory, any day.

 

And besides, the guy’s pretty hot.

 

Plus, being omni, he’s gotta have a taste for dick, or at least for knots. Which means he might not laugh at Dean for wanting his dick sucked from time to time. He might be okay with Dean being on top sometimes, and not just to ride him.

 

Dean’s getting ahead of himself. But he’s sure as hell going to give Cas his phone number today. He’s got five hours of community service between him and freedom, and it’s got him whistling while he works.

 

Four hours left.

 

He has to close the door firmly and turn off the radio when he does the lower dog cages, but he gets past that. He pretends it was actually Cas staring at him instead, and that helps.

 

Three hours left.

 

He does the small mammals room. His sinus headache tries to destroy his good mood and fails.

 

Two hours left.

 

He takes a coffee break, waiting for Cas to show, but the guy must be stuck in traffic or something. Dean takes a truly ridiculous number of dogs for multiple walks, and it’s not like he’s keeping an eye on the cars in the parking lot or anything.

 

One hour left.

 

Still no Cas.

 

Fifty minutes left.

 

Still no Cas.

 

Forty-five minutes left, Dean gives in and asks.

 

“Where’s Cas?”

 

Meg doesn’t even look up from her computer screen. She’s processing the surrender of an elderly tabby, but the paperwork is hardly as important as the clinic’s vet disappearing. Steadily typing, Meg answers, “He took the day off.”

 

Anxiety twists sharply into betrayal, and Meg does look up at that. She blinks at him over the computer monitor.

 

“What are you making a stink over?” Meg asks like Dean is supposed to hate Cas or something.

 

“He said he’d be in,” Dean says, somewhere between numb and livid. No, not in between. He’s at both ends of the spectrum at once. Cas is supposed to _be here_. It’s hitting Dean somewhere way down deep, somewhere he doesn’t like to look, childish and whiny and irrationally terrified.

 

Meg looks back at him steadily, nostrils flared, and says, “Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

Meg shrugs, but she shifts to pull out her cell phone. She starts texting under the desk, right where Dean can’t see. Dean stands there and waits, feeling like something is grinding around inside his chest, chewing up his lungs. He keeps his body still, not freaking out at all while this thing inside him twists and tears. That’s not a normal reaction, and he’s not sure he can blame this one on the therapy dragging stuff out.

 

Almost immediately, Meg’s phone buzzes beneath the desk. She looks down and nods. Instead of relaying any of her new intel to Dean, she merely texts back.

 

“Well?” Dean demands.

 

With a faint smirk growing increasingly stronger, Meg glances up to him. “Your boyfriend’s on his way.”

 

“He said he’d be here and then he bailed, okay?” Dean says. “I just want to know what’s up.”

 

Meg’s amusement only palpably grows. “Methinks the Omega protests too much.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s ‘the ‘mega doth protest too much, methinks,’ lady.”

 

Meg doesn’t even have the grace not to look surprised.

 

“Yeah, I know stuff,” Dean says. He’d hated most of high school besides shop class, except for bits of English class. Hamlet was okay, but MacBeth is where it’s at. Lady MacBeth is a scheming sociopath _and_ an Omega, and Dean will fight anyone who says a childless accomplice to murder has to be an Alpha or a Beta.

 

Meg’s phone buzzes again.

 

Dean pushes down the urge to crane over the desk while she reads.

 

“He’s on his way now,” Meg says with a gleam in her eyes.

 

Part of Dean flops down in relieved exhaustion. The rest of him bristles, because what the fuck does his body think it’s doing? “Hey, if he already called out...” Then Dean can just leave his number or something. Write a note saying they should have that debrief somewhere Dean isn’t dying from his allergies. Have a real coffee break together. “He doesn’t have to come in just for me.”

 

Meg glances back down at her buzzing phone. She grins in wicked amusement, texting back. She looks up and says, “He already was.”

 

Dean is torn between dealing with the smirk on her face and dealing with the sudden cartwheels in his belly. “Well, uh. Tell that idiot not to text and drive.”

 

Having successfully obtained the last word, Dean scurries away to attempt to at least look busy. Scrubbing the nasty sink in the cat and dog room, that’s always a good way to waste time.

 

He’s still at it when he hears heavy footsteps in the Staff Only hall. He keeps his head down, totally bent on his task, and only looks up when there’s a knock at the door. Cas opens it a second later, wearing his trench coat but not his scrubs. No, he’s got a suit on under there today, dark blue and rumpled, his tie a twisted mess. Cas has something fancy going on today, and he’s still here. Just for Dean. And carrying a supermarket plastic bag, fulfilling the promise of food.

 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, as casual as anything. Completely casual. The most casual. No one has ever been more casual than Dean. He props his hip against the edge of the sink, hands still encased in the big rubber gloves.

 

Cas’ entire face breaks into a grin. “Hello, Dean.”

 

“What’s going on with you?” Dean asks, unwittingly grinning back. It’s impossible not to. Cas is too happy, too palpably hopeful.

 

“I’ll tell you in...” Cas checks his watch. “Nine minutes. I’ll be in my office once you’ve clocked out.”

 

“You got it,” Dean says like a dumbass. He stops himself from winking, but it’s a close thing. Jesus, what is _wrong_ with him today? Besides the fact that he’s crushing like a teenager.

 

Still smiling, Cas closes the door, taking his grocery bag with him.

 

Eight agonizing minutes later, Dean surrenders to the still-nasty sink but graciously accepts victory over the clinic, his community service, and the world in general. He strips off the rubber gloves one final time before washing his hands in the break room sink. He heads out to the front to get Meg to sign off on his last five hour shift, on his full sixty hours served, and she even does it with far less antagonism than he’s grown to expect from her.

 

“All right,” she says, passing Dean back his personal copy. “I’ll fax our copy over and that’s it.”

 

Dean can’t stop grinning. “Awesome.”

 

Entirely lacking Dean’s enthusiasm, Meg levels a look at him. “Just listen to him this time, all right?”

 

...Okay, maybe Dean can stop grinning. “This time?”

 

Shaking her head, Meg just points back over her shoulder before showing him both her palms. It looks less like surrender and more like a superhero readying her powers to shoot him in the face. “I told him I’d stay out of it. This is me staying out of it.”

 

“No, this is you being cryptic as fuck,” Dean counters, but Meg only shrugs.

 

“Staying out of it,” she repeats. She points over her shoulder again. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

 

Any other day, for any other person, Dean would have stalled just to spite her. She’s provoking both his anger and his curiosity, and he’s sure he could get her to spill. Today, for Cas, Dean sucks it up and just takes a quick detour to the break room to pour two mugs of coffee from the half-empty pot. He’s sure to get Cas one of the ridiculous, cutesy mugs. It makes knocking on Cas’ office door a little difficult, but he manages, two handles in one hand.

 

“Come in,” Cas calls, and Dean’s stomach flops over again.

 

He opens the door and closes it behind him. Cas’ office is a cramped thing, his desk crammed in between filing cabinets, the desk’s surface crowded with a computer monitor, a mug, a box of tissues, and the plastic grocery bag. Behind the desk, Cas sits with no shortage of tension around his eyes. He’s removed his trench coat, but though he’s straightened his tie, he’s also loosened it.

 

“Oh, uh,” Dean says, taking in the mug on the desk, keenly feeling the weight of the pair in his hand.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. Then, almost hesitant about it: “Are you sure you want the door closed?”

 

“Yeah, we’re cool.” Dean sets the mugs down to discover the one on the desk is just water. There’s steam curling up from it, but it’s still just water. Sitting down in the chair across from the desk, Dean shoots Cas a questioning look.

 

“For your allergies,” Cas explains, sliding that mug toward Dean as Dean slides him one of the coffees. “Thank you.” Reaching forward, Cas draws the grocery bag open to pull out a clear plastic container with—score—little danishes inside. Dean’s gonna eat the shit out of those. Cas also pulls out a dark, tiny bottle before crumpling up the plastic bag and dropping that in the trash can beside his desk. The tiny bottle, he holds out to Dean. “Do not drink this or get it on your skin.”

 

Taking it, their fingers brush. Dean’s stomach flops back in the other direction. “What is it?” he asks despite reading the label.

 

“Eucalyptus oil,” Cas explains. “Put a few drops in the water and breathe in the steam. It should clear you up.”

 

“Awesome,” Dean says, trying to tamp down the bit of him—the large bit of him—that might do something fucking stupid like giggle over a gift. He sticks the bottle in the breast pocket of his button-down, but Cas shakes his head.

 

“Could you use it now?” Cas asks. The earnestness in his face turns it into something bigger than a question.

 

“Okay…” He checks the label again before cracking open the lid’s seal and tipping a few drops into the mug. The smell, the _ability_ to smell, is almost immediate, even before he screws the cap back on. It wafts up through his face, a cool ethereal ribbon from his nose to his brain. It is overwhelmingly, relentlessly eucalyptus, and it forces the contents of Dean’s clogged sinuses to part like a grosser Red Sea before a medical Moses.

 

Dean immediately leans forward, sticking his head over the mug. _Damn_ , that feels good. The pressure riding up beneath his cheekbones pretends to abate, and then he’s really glad Cas thought to plan ahead with those tissues. Dean blows out what has to be the entire contents of his face, brain included, and all that mess goes into the trash can. He takes another great big whiff, and there’s something else in there underneath the onslaught of eucalyptus. He blows his nose a bit more, and the other smell really starts coming through. Almost involuntarily, Dean laughs.

 

“Holy shit,” he says, grinning wide. He picks up the mug and tries to get another good sniff of that second smell, but the balance in the oil must be weird or something, because it goes back to being all eucalyptus. Frowning, nose twitching, he puts the mug back down to check the bottle’s label again. There’s no explanation on the list of ingredients, but Dean still can’t help snickering.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, watching as intently as he always does.

 

“Dude, why does this stuff smell like sex?”

 

Cas’ nostrils flare. He has to be smelling it too, even if it clearly doesn’t amuse him the way it does Dean. But fuck if it isn’t good. It doesn’t smell like sex the same way actual sex smells like sex. It doesn’t smell like sweat or spunk or slick. It smells the way sex feels. It smells like being horny, like aching. It doesn’t smell like aroused Alpha, but like _arousing_ Alpha. Fuck, that’s amazing.

 

But the closer Dean holds the mug to his nose, the more he’s only getting eucalyptus. The sex smell goes faint the same way the coffee does, or the sickly sweet scent of mass-produced danishes.

 

Because it’s not coming from the oil. The steamy scent has nothing to do with the steam.

 

Dean locks eyes with Cas over the mug’s brim.

 

Cas smells like.

 

Cas is.

 

Cas.

 

Dean knocks over the waste basket. He’s standing and his foot hit it. He’s stood with no memory of standing, the mug is gone from his hands, and he’s halfway around the desk, and Cas is sitting there, staring up at him with his blue, blue eyes and parted pink lips, Cas is sitting there, smelling like, smelling like _Cas_. Cas’ mouth is moving when it should be moving under Dean’s, and Dean can’t breathe except he needs to breathe, he has to keep pulling in that amazing Eau de Sex Appeal.

 

“What the fuck is happening,” he hears himself say from far away. The smell, it’s everywhere in the room, it’s sunk into the fabric of the chair, it’s clinging to the desk, it’s wafting off Cas, hotter and brighter. Dean’s thighs twinge against the inseam of his jeans. Needing, he clenches his ass, but slick escapes anyway, dripping down from his cleft, a self-tease.

 

Not just a self-tease. Cas’ nostrils flare, his eyes as dark and deep as his voice. “It’s a scent bond.” Cas grips his own slacks hard, fisting dark blue fabric as he stares up at Dean. Fuck, those hands. They’re strong and gorgeous and distracting enough that Dean looks at them before the growing bulge at Cas’ crotch. God, look at it.

 

Dean’s mouth waters. His knees fight to buckle. He catches himself on the edge of the desk, and maybe Dean’s not _presenting_ , but he’s sure as hell presenting, his legs too wide, his dick too hard beneath his fly.

 

All the while staring up at Dean like he’s receiving divine revelation, Cas fists his hands in his pants even harder. “We’re compatible,” Cas understates in a rasp that goes straight to the pleasure centers of Dean’s brain. “You hadn’t… You didn’t react, before.” Cas takes in these great, sucking gasps of air, like he’s getting high off Dean’s scent alone. No, not _like_ that, this _is_ that. Fuck. And Cas only smells better the hornier he gets. “I thought you… Dean, you…”

 

Cas isn’t touching him. Why isn’t Cas touching him? Dean’s right here, he’s fucking waiting for his Alpha, _his_ Alpha, he’s perched on the desk with his legs wide, there’s a space for Cas, a perfect space right between his knees, rubbing up against his dick, but Cas isn’t moving, just talking, why is he only talking?

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas snaps, so harsh and firm that Dean gives a full-body shudder. Or maybe that has something to do with the pressure of his own hand on his fly, or the edge of the desk digging into his ass cheeks. “Dean.” Cas surges up out of his chair, fucking finally, he surges up and into Dean’s space. Dean lifts his head, he bares his throat, he whimpers with this throat on display and slick dripping out his ass, but Cas still doesn’t give it to him. The fucker reaches _past_ Dean, he reaches around Dean like he’s trying not to touch him, like he doesn’t want to touch, like he doesn’t want _Dean_ , and Dean fucking dies inside as Cas pulls a mug up between their faces.

 

Eucalyptus smacks through Dean’s head like a koala just puked in his face.

 

He reels back but the desk is there. He reels back but Cas’ hand is on his shoulder, hot as a brand.

 

“Dean,” Cas says again, maybe again, maybe for the first time.

 

“I think I just went into heat,” Dean says, speaking rather than thinking.

 

“We’re in a pheromone feedback loop,” Cas explains, at once serious and deeply, visibly, audibly aroused. His scent pushes in against the protective eucalyptus cloud, his scent suffuses it as the steam lessens, as the water cools. There is coffee and sugary danishes, but mostly it’s just Cas, Cas, all Cas, and Dean needs to be as buried under the Alpha as he is under his scent. “I didn’t think it would be this strong.”

 

“You thought-” Something finally makes it through the cloud of sex besides the overwhelming need to shove Cas back down on that chair and straddle him. “You _knew_ this would happen?”

 

Cas nods. His hand holding the mug starts to lower, but Dean has enough sense to duck his head and inhale, grabbing clarity while he can. With an apologetic twitch to his lush pink lips, Cas lifts the mug higher again. His hand on Dean’s shoulder holds firm and Dean slowly realizes he’s got the guy by the tie and one lapel. He can’t make himself let go any more than he can stop his slick from dripping out.

 

“I knew we were mates the first time I smelled you,” Cas says, like something out of a goddamn movie. Except, instead of making Dean scoff or squirm at watching such self-indulgent crap, it has Dean shivering like he needs a nice warm blanket… or an Alpha pressing him down into their nest of a bed.

 

Dean has to clear his throat a couple times before he can force his voice to work. “You could have fucking said something, you know.”

 

“I thought you knew,” Cas says. “You always smelled so uncomfortable, I thought…”

 

Cas’ scent spikes with signs of exactly what he thought.

 

Dean’s hands leap up, his forearm smacking against Cas’ as he grabs Cas by his beautiful, stupid face. The mug spills warm water all down Dean’s front and he doesn’t even care. Cas closes his eyes, pressing into Dean’s palms, cheekbones beneath Dean’s thumbs.

 

“You’re a goddamn moron, you know that?” Dean tells him.

 

Cas sets the mug down on the desk, again reaching past Dean to do it, but this time, he stops with that hand on the small of Dean’s back. “Yes,” he says, the sandpaper of his cheeks spreading tingles through Dean’s palms. “But it’s not just pheromones, Dean.” He meets Dean’s eyes only briefly before closing his own again. He turns his head, turns his face against Dean’s palm and noses toward his wrist to scent him there.

 

“Looks like pheromones to me,” Dean says, not complaining. The tip of Cas’ nose brushes against the inside of his wrist, pushing at his layered cuffs, and Dean fights down a pleasant shiver.

 

Cas shakes his head, lips brushing Dean’s skin. Dean tugs him closer but Cas won’t be budged, a chasm of space stubbornly remaining between their lower bodies when they ought to be rutting on the floor ten minutes ago.

 

“I like you,” Cas says like a whispered promise. He cups one hand around the back of Dean’s, nose and lips still against Dean’s skin. “I admire you. I want to be worthy of you.”

 

It’s the sweetest, corniest thing anyone’s ever said to Dean, no contest, so of course Dean laughs. “Dude, I’m an asshole,” Dean explains to Cas’ offended look and smell. With the eucalyptus scent all down his shirt, Dean’s doing a little better with the whole clarity of thought thing. Not much, but some. Maybe enough. “I’m not… There’s no ‘worthiness’ quota or something.” He shifts the hand Cas isn’t holding, fingers sliding across cheek and ear to bury themselves in the soft warmth of Cas’ hair. “And I was gonna ask you out anyway.”

 

Eyes wide with surprise and dark with lust, Cas stares at him.

 

It’s exactly the opening Dean needs.

 

He stands up, stops leaning on the desk, and there they are, face to face and toe to toe when they should be crotch to crotch. Dean’s taller, standing, a little fact Cas seems to have forgotten judging by the surprised blink. Dean drags him in, drags him up, and Cas rocks into him as Dean finally gets his taste as well as his scent.

 

For a jarring minute, the kiss stays light. Cas doesn’t push into his mouth or bite at his lips. Cas presses against him instead, grabbing at his torso without reaching below the belt. Dean’s the one to take the lead, licking into Cas, and Cas opens for him beautifully. Cas’ hands may not stray so low, but the groan he makes goes straight to Dean’s dick. The way Cas sucks on Dean’s tongue, that should be on his dick too. _Fuck,_ that’d be amazing. Will be amazing.

 

Cas breaks the kiss, turning his face away to nose against Dean’s neck, to lick and kiss there where Dean’s scent must be heady and strong. The musk rolling off Cas is filling up Dean the way Cas’ knot should be. The certainty of that has Dean easing himself back up on the desk, has him hooking a leg around Cas and drawing him in.

 

Groaning, Cas catches himself with his hands on Dean’s hips, forcing two very interesting areas to remain separate. “We have to stop,” Cas says, his eyes saying something very different.

 

“Or,” Dean suggests. Just that, just _or_ , and Cas flushes so hard, it’s a wonder there’s any blood left for his dick. God, he smells so fucking good.

 

“We have to stop,” Cas repeats. He has one hand tangled up in the buttons of Dean’s damp flannel, caught there without actually unbuttoning anything.

 

“I want more,” Dean says, pulling at him. “Do you want more, ‘cause I want more.”

 

Cas’ chest is heaving. It’s a really good look on him. “I don’t want to knot you over my desk.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Dean agrees. “Sit down, I’ll straddle you.”

 

Cas stops breathing. Just staring. And then he’s sucking in air, mouth slamming down on the pulse point of Dean’s neck. Dean tilts his chin up, he shows his belly, he spreads his legs wider. He runs both hands down Cas’ back to grab his ass, to pull him in tight. The moment their lower bodies connect, Cas _slams_ his hips forward, shoves Dean fully onto the desk. Dean’s elbow nicks the edge of the monitor but nothing falls over and who the fuck would care anyway when Dean has _this_?

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas keens. His hands burn hot and hard through Dean’s layers, but nowhere as hot and hard as his trapped cock. Their hips shift back and forth, grinding them together through dress slacks and jeans. “We—no. Chair has wheels. You’ll, you’d fall. We should-”

 

“Gotta tie me down to your lap,” Dean tells him, rubbing their cheeks together, getting his scent all over Cas. Nobody’s going to get within twenty feet of Cas without knowing this Alpha is taken. “How we gonna tie me down, Cas, huh? How we gonna lock me down on your lap, Cas? Tell me, how we-”

 

Cas shuts him up with a rough kiss and Dean hooks both legs around Cas’, feet pressing in behind thighs. When Cas draws back to speak, he doesn’t draw back for space. He keeps their foreheads together, keeps rubbing their noses together in chaste mimicry of their grinding hips. “No condoms,” Cas pants out.

 

The deranged, horny part of Dean nearly points out he’s on birth control, but that is fucking _insane_. “Dude,” he says instead, physically pained. “You got groceries on the way here! How did you not get condoms?”

 

“I didn’t think-”

 

“No shit!”

 

“I can finger you,” Cas offers, his low voice somehow deepening further. “I can fist you.”

 

“You gotta suck my dick while you do that,” Dean says, equal parts challenge and request. Alphas might go down on ass and pussy, but they don’t go down on dick.

 

Cas licks his lips before biting the lower one. He glances down like he’s about to drop to his knees there and then.

 

Holy shit.

 

“Jesus fuck, I’m keeping you,” Dean swears.

 

With a snarl, Cas pushes at him, but Dean’s holding on tight, Dean’s never going to let go.

 

“Dean,” Cas says with the harsh ruin of his voice. “Cars. Separate. Drive.”

 

“Condoms?”

 

“Bed and condoms.”

 

“Fuck yes,” Dean says, and they keep making out. The eucalyptus scent is vanishingly small between them, no longer a barrier but a flimsy, easily ignored annoyance. When Cas pulls away, he does it entirely under his own willpower. The only thing that snaps Dean out of it is Cas’ reaction to Dean’s growl of protest.

 

“That was adorable,” Cas says, succeeding in separating them. He grabs the chair and immediately wheels it between them, his knuckles white around the chair’s back.

 

“Fuck you,” Dean says, breathless and needful.

 

Cas looks back at him just the same way. “Please.”

 

For one agonizing moment, they don’t move.

 

“I need you to leave the office first,” Cas says. “Slowly.”

 

“Or what? You gonna chase me?”

 

Cas nods, eyes more black than blue. “This is all the restraint I have. Don’t test it further.”

 

Dean slides off the desk. Cas shifts the chair, keeping it firmly between them, while at the same time looking like he’s about to launch himself over it. And fuck if he doesn’t look even more rumpled than before, his tie extra twisted, his hair sticking up, his suit jacket pulled unevenly over his shoulders.

 

“You first,” Cas prompts when Dean fails to move.

 

Dean swallows. “You, uh. Coat?”

 

Cas looks around in confusion before grabbing his trench coat. He doesn’t bother putting it on, just drapes it over one arm and keeps staring at Dean.

 

Slowly, all too aware of his shaking legs and the wet heat growing in his boxer briefs, Dean backs around the desk. He gropes around behind him for the door knob. He gets the door open and there’s an immediate rush of fresh air, wrong air, air that doesn’t smell of Cas or Cas’ arousal or their scents layered and intertwined the way their bodies should be.

 

This truly pathetic noise leaks out of Dean’s throat like slick from his hole and Cas surges forward before catching himself on the edge of the desk. His hand comes down with a noise of crunching plastic, and they both look in confusion at the danishes.

 

With the air smelling far more like disinfectant and animal feces and urine than impending sex, Dean’s common sense smacks back into his body. “Okay, bring those. And uh, the eucalyptus stuff?”

 

“Got them,” Cas rasps, grabbing both. The eucalyptus bottle goes into his inner jacket pocket, and the motion reveals more of that white dress shirt beneath. There’s wet spots on it from where Dean’s water spill transferred between them.

 

Dean retreats further into the hall, further into allergy hell. As his nose prickles, his brain comes back online nearly fully. As close to fully as it’s going to get until he rides Cas into the mattress, at least. Any mattress will do.

 

“Where, where are we going?” Dean finally thinks to ask.

 

“How long is your commute?”

 

“Thirty minutes.”

 

“Fifteen in good traffic,” Cas counters.

 

“You got condoms there?”

 

Cas nods and Dean nearly runs despite the explicit order not to. He must move too quickly toward the front door anyway, because Cas catches him by the arm with the hand not holding the danishes. “Wait.”

 

“I’m clogging up again, man. It’s not gonna be sexy.”

 

Cas shakes his head. “We should use the back door. The way we smell is… There might be children in the waiting room.”

 

“Good call.” Dean pushes on Cas’ shoulder in turn and Cas leads the way out, constantly looking over his shoulder. There’s some Greek myth about this shit, some Omega musician terrified it wasn’t his Alpha chasing him out of the underworld, but the thought just makes Dean snort. “Dude, I’m following. And I’m following in my car, too, because I don’t know where we’re going.”

 

As they move through the back hall to the doors Dean’s only ever used to chuck out the trash, Cas gives Dean his phone number and address. Dean types them into his phone with perfectly steady hands because it’s not like he’s horny as hell or freaking out or anything.

 

“We doing this?” Dean asks, following Cas out into the parking lot and closing the door behind him. It locks automatically.

 

Cas turns to him—Cas keeps turning to him—and says, so overly serious, “Only if you want to.”

 

“I mean, bonding. Mating. I mean-”

 

“I’ve been fully scent bonded to you for over a month,” Cas says. “My body’s been pushing to complete the bond for weeks. Every other Omega smells foul because they’re not you.”

 

“Shit, is that what that is? I thought that was my meds fucking me up.”

 

“It could be,” Cas says. “You must have ingested some of my pheromones orally or absorbed them cutaneously, but I don’t think you’re at the point of no return yet.”

 

“But you are?”

 

Cas looks at him helplessly. Actually helplessly.

 

Dean risks drawing close. Dean risks drawing even closer than that, and then he risks his hands on Cas’ shoulders. He pushes Cas up against the back wall of the building and there’s that crinkle of plastic again as Cas’ hand clenches around the danishes.

 

“And you weren’t even going to say anything, you stupid fuck,” Dean huffs before kissing him.

 

Cas’ free hand seizes Dean by the nape, holds Dean there the same way Dean holds Cas against the wall. Cas’ scent uncoils from his skin like so much flavored heat, and Dean has to break the kiss to better lap it up from Cas’ pulse point.

 

“I thought you _knew_ ,” Cas says, head tilting to the side, his voice shooting high for half a syllable. “Dean, you...” The scent turns faintly sour. “You laughed at the idea.”

 

“Told you, I’m an asshole,” Dean apologizes, going right back up for more kissing. For kisses with soft lips and insistent tongues. He kisses Cas against that wall until the only sour scents are coming from the garbage cans.

 

“Where’s your car?” Dean asks against his mouth.

 

“Uh,” Cas says, but he lets go of Dean enough to point.

 

“Don’t pull out of the parking lot without me,” Dean says before grabbing one last kiss. Two last kisses. An entire make-out session. This time, Dean has to be the one to pull away, though that might be because he’s got Cas up against a wall. “Okay, okay. Drive, _then_ fuck.”

 

Cas nods fervently. They draw apart, and just when Dean thinks they’re actually going to make progress, Cas catches him by the shoulder again. “Tell me you’re not allergic to latex.”

 

“I’m not, I’m not, just get the hell into your car.”

 

They part, but not easily. Cas gets the hell into his car, Dean gets the fuck into his, and they line up at the exit of the parking lot. Through the windshield and Cas’ back window, Dean sees Cas purposefully adjust his rear view mirror. Dean waves back, a quick lift of fingers off his steering wheel, and Cas nods in return. The line of his shoulders is tight and tense, and Dean stares at him so long he nearly doesn’t realize Cas is signaling left.

 

Cas passes up the first two openings like he’s in no rush at all, but his clear agitation is enough to keep Dean from calling his phone and demanding Cas to book it. Finally, once there’s enough of an opening for whole fleet of cars, Cas makes the left turn. Dean’s right up his tailpipe, tailgating so hard he’d be pissing off anyone else. Cas just keeps checking his mirror and nodding to Dean, though.

 

The fucker stops at every single yellow light, too, refusing to let them be separated. The part of Dean that doesn’t want to boot up the GPS on his phone is grateful. The part of him that needs laid half an hour ago is enraged. Dean slaps on the radio and switches over to his tunes, but he’s left in some choice Led Zeppelin—specifically, his top tracks to fuck to.

 

Dean’s hard and leaking and twitchy. Cas keeps staring back at him in the rear view to the point that Dean has to lay on the horn when the light turns to green. Cas kicks his hunk of junk back into gear—seriously, they are going to have a talk about that car later—and Dean rides Cas’ ass the way Cas needs to be riding his.

 

Fifteen minutes into the longest drive of Dean’s road trip-packed life, Cas turns into a condominium complex. Dean follows him at a crawl over way too many speed bumps. They turn down a row of identical slate blue condos, and Cas turns on his blinker again like he’s going to pull into one of the parking spots any fucking second before driving something like five hundred fucking feet farther. _Then_ he pulls into a spot. There are four in front of the conjoined twins of a residence before him, so Dean just pulls into the place next to Cas and finally kills the engine.

 

The second Dean’s parked, Cas is out of his car, striding purposefully to his front door while keeping an eye on Dean. The idiot falls up his own front steps, practically faceplanting on the dirty welcome mat. He’s getting back up by the time Dean reaches him, and there’s a brief second in pulling Cas up where Dean nearly gets pulled down instead.

 

“Door,” Dean says.

 

“Door,” Cas agrees.

 

The air smells of cut lawns, oak trees, and car exhaust, but the front steps smell like strangers and Cas, stale Cas, like fabric softener and animals and Cas over time. Dean crowds in to better get that fresh scent but Cas pulls him into a kiss instead, the cloud of pheromones thickening around them while Cas’ keys scrape against the doorknob.

 

“ _Door_ ,” Dean breaks away to repeat.

 

“Door,” Cas agrees again, but he doesn’t look at what he’s doing until Dean wrestles the keys out of his hand and does it himself. Cas presses up behind him as Dean forces his fine motor skills back online, the bulge grinding up against his ass being no help whatsoever.

 

Dean’s head drops forward, thunking against wood as Cas pulls at his hips with covetous hands. Fumbling, Dean finally gets the door open. They stagger inside in a frotting shuffle. Keeping one hand clamped on Dean’s waist, Cas slams the door behind them with the other.

 

A wall of aroma smacks Dean in the face as he narrowly avoids physically barreling into a physical wall. From the living room: fabric softener and cleaning sprays. From the kitchen beyond: the fading scents of cooked food, maybe hamburgers, definitely beef. Pears and bananas left out to ripen. From up the staircase dividing living room and kitchen area: guinea pig and litter.

 

But most of all, overwhelmingly, from _everywhere_ , the wet dog stink of sad Alpha.

 

Without thinking about it, without needing to think, Dean whirls around. He grabs Cas by the shoulders, by the nape, his hair, and he tugs Cas’ head down into the crook of his neck. Cas goes like a parched man to an oasis spring, his mouth on Dean’s scent glands, sucking him in, sucking him down, tongue crossing and crossing his skin.

 

Dean holds on, swaying as Cas presses into him, as Cas drinks him in. For all it’s not wafting off Cas now, the mournful odor is rampant. It smells like someone died, and that’s enough to put a damper on Dean’s mood, horny Alpha in his arms or not. His body still wants, _needs_ its fucking, but Dean’s priorities shift regardless of his libido’s grudging compliance.

 

Inhaling it from the source, Cas picks up on it the moment Dean’s scent changes. And that’s the kicker. That’s the heartbreaking irony. Cas looks up at him with lust-blown eyes set in a face full of concern and asks, “What’s wrong?”

 

“You okay?” Dean asks right back. He runs his hands through Cas’ hair, scratching at his scalp, until Cas’ eyes droop half-closed. Their lower bodies keep grinding together, more comfort than carnal craving. They stand forehead to forehead, too close to properly see each other, too far apart for all they’re still touching most everywhere.

 

“I… oh.” Cas swallows. He squeezes Dean’s hips to hold him still. “I would have aired it out, I didn’t think…”

 

“You thought we’d be going to mine?” It’s painful to even consider. Too fucking far and not enough parking. Plus, if Cas’ Alpha instincts to chase had kicked in while following him by _car_? Jesus, that would have been a disaster.

 

Cas kisses him instead of answering, but his scent shifts all wrong.

 

Again, Dean steers Cas’ mouth lower, pulls him down to suck on his neck, to scent Dean until he can’t smell anything else than _Omega_ and _mate_ and _want you_. “Fucking idiot,” Dean calls him, an affectionate curse. He keeps rubbing Cas’ scalp, keeps pressing into his hands and baring his neck for that mouth. “Thought I wouldn’t want you, you dumbass.” Dean's the one who doesn't deserve this, but he's still smart enough to hold on with both hands. If Cas can want him even while Dean's being an asshole, if Cas really wants to adopt, if Cas is really everything he's said he is...

 

“It’s, Dean, it’s…” Cas thrusts against him hard enough that Dean staggers back, they both stagger, clutching and groaning, arms striking the railing and feet hitting against the bottom stair. Cas swears, and he does it as beautifully as he smells. This suburban dad-looking guy, the veterinarian of the baby blue scrubs, this dork of an Alpha all dolled up like a tax accountant on a first date, he curses fit to put Dean to shame, and if Dean doesn’t soak through his jeans at the sound, then nothing will ever get him there.

 

Cas slides his hands around, slides them low and pushes up Dean’s jacket in the back. He palms Dean’s ass with both hands, fingertips digging into the crease, pressing sodden fabric tight against his hole, working him over with damp friction in the back and a dry grind in the front. They don’t so much kiss as press their mouths together and breathe, dizzier and dizzier on recycled air.

 

Cas presses forward and Dean starts to fall back. He catches himself with one hand on the railing, but he’s going down and Cas is gonna come down on top of him. They’re gonna fuck on the stairs and screw up their backs and knees with a couch right there and a bed maybe ten seconds away. Dean’s fighting the urge to turn over and drop trousers, but he needs to keep kissing Cas, needs that scent through his head and that taste coating his tongue. He needs—oh, fuck, right—condoms. One to start. Then more. Many more.

 

Turning his head to the side, Dean breaks the kiss. Cas simply moves on to Dean’s ear instead, lavishing oral attention while he keeps teasing Dean’s hole through his jeans. “Cas, babe,” Dean gasps, fighting for coherency. “C’mon, man, at least take off the coat.”

 

Those strong hands leave his ass to push Dean’s jacket down his shoulders. Cas tears it off him, growling against Dean’s ear when Dean snickers.

 

“ _Your_ coat,” Dean corrects.

 

Grumbling more than growling now, Cas relinquishes his hold on Dean to strip off his trench coat, but the second Dean’s released, he _bolts_. Dean turns and races up the stairs, slipping, scrambling on hands and feet until he reaches the top.

 

With only a split second of pause, Cas is after him. The chase is on, the pursuit initiated, and at the top of the stairs, Dean risks the door on the left rather than the one on the right. He grabs the knob and pushes it open—and steps face first into an even stronger wall of sad Alpha stink.

 

The only illumination is the sun trying to force its way through the closed curtains of two windows, but Dean can easily see the nest Cas has turned his bed into. The queen bed has been shoved into the corner of the room and crowned with blankets and comforters, bedecked with throw pillows better suited to the downstairs sofa. It’s an unmistakable nest, sad and empty, unmade and rumpled from tossing and turning.

 

It reeks of loneliness. Of rejection.

 

Dean stops short in the doorway and Cas slams into him from behind, clearly not expecting Dean to stop anywhere besides the bed. They go down hard, but Dean manages to twist over enough not to land flat on his dick. He gets his hip pretty bad, smacking down onto the carpeted floor on his side. Fucking hurts but it’s worth it for how Cas turns him over the rest of the way to crowd between Dean’s legs, his eyes dark with worry and his kisses insistent with reassurance. Anything’s worth the way Cas turns him over onto his _back_.

 

The scent of aroused Alpha nearly crowds out the sad stink, a shifting olfactory balance drastically helped along every time Dean lets out a moan. He’s not normally loud in bed—or on floor, as the case may be—but that’s one hell of a feedback loop.

 

“Need you naked,” Dean gasps. “Clothes off, c’mon.”

 

“Need _you_ naked,” Cas counters, but he pushes up to start tugging at Dean’s belt.

 

Dean thrusts up against the pressure, against the scrambling touch, but Cas doesn’t bother teasing him through his jeans. No, Cas unbuckles Dean’s belt and starts trying to tug Dean’s jeans down his legs—all while stubbornly planted between Dean’s knees.

 

Cas growls his frustration, but Dean loses his shit laughing. He’s horny as hell but still cracking the fuck up, this is completely ridiculous, and Cas doesn’t even get into an offended Alpha huff. God, no. No, Cas rises up on his knees, towering over Dean, hands still fruitlessly yanking Dean’s jeans down against his own dress slacks, and he grins with such triumphant pride, anyone would think he’d already fucked Dean into submission.

 

“You’re happy,” Cas rasps, a deep and guttural victory cry. “I can make you _happy_.”

 

Lying on his back, looking up at his Alpha, Dean is so hard, so wet, so ready. He clears his throat, fighting against a sudden incongruent dryness. “Be happier once you suck my dick.”

 

Cas’ nostrils flare. He looks straight down at Dean’s tented boxer briefs like he’s about to eat him alive. “I want…” He shakes his head, hard. “Condoms. Drawer.” He looks in the right direction only to clamp down on Dean’s hips when Dean tries to reach. “Get...” He swallows thickly. “Get on the bed.”

 

Rising to his feet, Cas pulls Dean up with him. For a second, they’re properly face-to-face again, and they both have to turn their faces away to avoid the magnetic draw of the other’s mouth. Pushing Dean to the bed proper despite the jeans hobbling him, Cas shoves him down to sit before dropping back to his knees. He has enough sense to start tugging on Dean’s boots this time.

 

Dean, though, Dean has to stop and stare, looking down at the top of Cas’ head, his ruffled hair, the broad and rumpled shoulders of his suit jacket. Dean’s hole clenches around nothing as his dick strains against fabric. His underwear clings wetly to the curve of his ass, soaked through with slick. He’s gotta be staining the blanket he sits on, and it would be embarrassing as hell if it weren’t for the way Cas keeps swaying forward, striving to taste him before remembering himself and jerking his head back.

 

They really gotta get tested. First thing tomorrow.

 

Today, by necessity, will have to be a condom day, so Dean grabs at the drawer of Cas’ bedside table. He tugs it open despite the ample distractions before him and—wow, okay—there are distractions inside as well.

 

Dean must make some sort of noise because Cas looks up at him with the wide eyes of a belated realization.

 

“I can explain,” Cas says, eyes flitting to the drawer.

 

“Is that for you?” It’s definitely not a knotting dildo. It’s purple and silicon with a base that flares instead of inflates, and Dean can feel more slick pump out of his ass at the mere implications. “Cas, is that for you?”

 

Inhaling deeply, Cas nods. The hesitant motion clashes against the backdrop of aroused Alpha.

 

Dean bends in half, leaning forward to grab Cas by the ears, to force him to meet his gaze. “Tell me I get to fuck you.”

 

Cas stares with dark, dark eyes. He swallows, his arousal so thick on the air it coats the back of Dean’s throat. “Do you… want to?”

 

“Later?” Dean asks. “Somewhere between round two and round ten.”

 

Cas gazes up at him as if Dean is a miracle made flesh, descended directly into his bed from the heavens. “Yes,” he says, then finishes yanking Dean’s boots off. The jeans follow, the rough fabric pulling Dean’s socks away in a moment of unexpected efficiency. “Yes, we’ll—yes.”

 

Dean lifts up off the bed, pushing down against too many pillows and blankets to raise his hips. Groaning at the sight he reveals, Cas peels Dean’s boxer briefs down his legs. Dean’s leaking right on the blankets now, he’s so fucking wet as his cock bobs up hard against his clothed stomach. Jesus, he’s still wearing too many shirts.

 

He pulls off his upper layers as Cas rifles through the drawer, pulling out one box of condoms and then another. It seems like rampant overkill until Cas pulls a foil packet out of each box, one significantly smaller than the other. Ain’t that a new one: an Alpha with regular condoms, not just ones with a knot-sheath.

 

“Why do you-”

 

“Easier clean-up,” Cas interrupts, face red with more than lust.

 

“For when you fuck yourself?” Dean asks. “You stick a condom on your dildo, Cas? You come hard on that dick?” A beautiful, impossible thought: “You pretend it was mine?”

 

Red to the tips of his ears, Cas turns his face against Dean’s thigh, but his scent speaks the answer. He scrapes his teeth against the skin there like he thinks he can be a bigger tease than even Dean.

 

Dean responds by grabbing the regular Beta condom and getting it on himself as quickly as his shaking hands will allow. “Ready, I’m ready, Cas, Cas, c’mon, you can- _fuckyes_.”

 

One hand clamped down on Dean’s hips, Cas delivers his retribution. He isn’t hesitant: there’s no moment of working himself up to it, no tentative kitten licks. No, there’s just a hand wrapped around his base and shaft, and a mouth sucking at his head. It’s the same kind of weird it always is, getting blown with a condom on, but Dean’s already leaking enough through his slit that the drag and pull still feels wet.

 

Getting what he wanted just makes Dean want _more_. He rocks his hips with the motions Cas guides him through, and Cas rides Dean’s dick with his mouth nice and slow. Cas sucks in air even harder than he sucks in cock, his eyes dark, face flushed from the growing musk between them.

 

Dean grips him with his legs, knees pressing in against Cas’ sides beneath his armpits, the suit jacket at once soft and itchy against his bare thighs. He’d push that jacket off Cas’ shoulders if he could but he can’t, too busy running his hands through Cas’ hair and trying not to pull.

 

No matter how Dean shifts and squirms and leaks against the bed, Cas is a fixated bastard. He drops one hand to fondle at Dean’s modest balls, to knuckle up behind them against Dean’s perineum, but he never pushes back further. He never touches so much as a fingertip to the edge of Dean’s slick hole. Anyone else would already be two fingers deep inside him, and maybe Dean’s brain’s been sucked out through his dick, but he can’t figure out what Cas is doing, having his nose that close to so much Omega slick without being tempted to dip inside.

 

Dean scoots closer to the edge of the bed, incidentally thrusting up into Cas’ mouth, and Cas holds him down hard with a forearm across his belly. Cas looks up at him with hooded eyes and fucking _growls_ around Dean’s dick. Like he likes it. Like he wants it. Like it’s _his_.

 

“Oh fuck,” Dean grits out, body locking up, ass clenching down on nothing. He comes so hard he stops breathing, eyes snapping shut, hands fisting in Cas’ hair, on his shoulder, all of Dean trying to grab and hold on when there’s nothing to hold on to. Slick pulses out of him as his jizz fills up the condom. He’s empty and emptying out further.

 

Cas pulls off and Dean pulls at his hair even harder in a piece of instinctual panic that takes him entirely off-guard. He came and he’s empty and they aren’t tied and Cas could go somewhere, Cas could _leave_ , Cas is still fully fucking dressed and not even on the bed, and they are supposed to be mates, Cas is supposed to _stay_.

 

Dean pulls harder and Cas groans, baring his throat as Dean tugs his head up. Dean’s fucking trembling, at once sated and unsatisfied. His voice isn’t much steadier as he orders, “Get up here and get naked.”

 

“Do you want my knot now?” Cas asks, still kneeling before him in misplaced supplication.

 

Dean’s stomach clenches in an entirely different way than his ass. It’s a politer question than it normally is— _gagging for it, aren’t you, bitch—_ but it still makes something in Dean recoil.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, frowning with reddened lips, speaking with a roughened voice. His scent starts to shift away from overwhelming arousal, taking on hints of the rejection his bed still reeks of.

 

“I don’t do humiliation play,” Dean warns him, Dean lies. Because he does, he definitely does, it’s just that he hates himself for weeks after.

 

“O...kay?” Cas says slowly, brow wrinkling in confusion. He drops his head to kiss the top of Dean’s thigh and sighs out a groan. “You smell amazing. I want to eat you out so badly, Dean, I want us to get tested as soon as possible.”

 

No matter how Dean nods in agreement, it’s still pretty awkward pulling the condom off with Cas’ head right there, but it’s pretty awkward keeping it on, too. Cas looks up attentively, nostrils flaring at the scent of Dean’s come. Without a hint of squeamishness, Cas takes the tied-off condom from Dean and shuffles back on his knees to drop it in the waste bin next to the bedside table. His dress slacks are straining, a damp spot beside his fly turning the dark blue even darker. He catches Dean looking and this, this is the first time Cas goes tentative.

 

“You gonna get naked or not?” Dean goads, pushing his own nerves down hard and deep. “C’mon, Cas, this is ridiculous.”

 

With that, Cas finally starts shedding his clothing. He goes to his fly first. Still kneeling, he shoves his pants and underwear down his hips only to realize the problem after. His shirttails fall low, tenting yet concealing. Dean reaches and Cas reaches up, and between the two of them, they get Cas standing. Cas kicks off his loafers before dropping his pants entirely and stepping out of them. He lunges forward immediately after, coming in for hard kisses. Dean matches him, tasting latex and _mate_.

 

Cas crowds him, crawls up onto the bed after him, and he stops with and honest to god _whine_ when Dean pushes at his clothed shoulders. “Dean?”

 

“You are not knotting me in half a suit, dude,” Dean tells him, completely sure about that until his mind sticks on the image. “Not the first time anyway, c’mon.”

 

Eyes bright, Cas strips off his tie and starts on his buttons. Dean joins in, only making it worse with tangled hands and fingers. He’s not going out of his mind for it, not anymore, not in the same way. He needs Cas inside in a way that has nothing to do with pleasure. It’s claiming, bonding, and it is goddamn overdue.

 

The suit jacket gets flung to the floor with the tie. Cas finally gets his shirt unbuttoned, finally parts that hanging fabric over his erect dick. He’s huge and hard and waiting, ready for Dean to take him and hold him and keep him, and Dean nearly rolls over onto all fours despite himself.

 

Gritting his teeth against the urge, Dean drops himself onto his back because Dean fucking Winchester doesn’t present for anyone, no matter how gorgeous he looks or smells.

 

Cas does serious damage to his cuffs, getting his shirt off, and then there’s a fucking undershirt to follow, but then there’s skin. There is so much skin. Dean rises up on his elbows, getting a better look before Cas pushes at him, herds him toward the wall Cas has pressed the bed up against.

 

“Nest,” Cas tells him, rough and monosyllabic with lust and pride. It’s _I made this for you_ and _I have you here_ and _get in_ , all at once.

 

“Nest,” Dean agrees, his eyes feasting as much as his nose. The predatory cant of Cas’ shoulders as he crawls after him. The sex-mussed hair, the well-fucked mouth. That cock, hanging heavy between Cas’ legs, swaying with his motions. The scent, horny and pleased, heated and proud, packed with equal parts lust and joy.

 

His knees planted between Dean’s, Cas stops, his arms framing Dean’s shoulders as he looks down. He stares down, his chest heaving, barely touching Dean, and the arousal pouring off him coats Dean like a physical wave.

 

Shifting his weight onto one arm, Cas takes his cock in hand. He bites his lip hard and rasps, “Condom. Where…?”

 

“Uh, fuck, here,” Dean says, groping blindly to the side until his hand hits foil. How they get it on Cas without giving into the frustration and fucking without, Dean will never know, but they get it on, Cas temporarily back on his haunches with Dean’s legs an insistent circle around him.

 

“Now,” Dean says, ordering, not begging. “Now. Now, now, now, fucking _now_ -”

 

Sprawling back over Dean, Cas reaches down and slips a single fingertip inside. Dean whimpers and bucks. His slick squelches mortifyingly, but Cas groans over the noise. He presses inside Dean with a damp, slippery touch that can only tease as he explores.

 

“I want,” Cas says, like he can’t get out of the rest of the words, like there are no other words. Just that. Just wanting.

 

“In,” Dean says, canting his hips up.

 

In a groping, fumbling move, they get more pillows under him and Cas seems to realize that Dean is, as it happens, more than ready to take him. Has been ready for ages, been staining these sheets and blankets with slick, been infusing the room with the scent of aroused Omega.

 

Cas lines himself up and pushes home. The heat of him registers before the thickness, the burn of touch before the burn of stretch. A good stretch, a motion he’s ready for. Dean locks his arms around Cas’ shoulders. He locks his legs around Cas’ waist. He strains for Cas’ mouth too, needing that trifecta of contact, but Cas holds himself up just enough to keep looking down at Dean, to keep panting and straining. They share breaths instead of kisses.

 

Cas’ thrusts pick up the pace, his hips rubbing at the insides of Dean’s thighs. His shoulders tense beneath Dean’s arms. His eyes, closed tight with the same pleasure that leaves his mouth slack and open. His body, thrusting and driving and pushing into Dean, his growing knot catching on Dean’s rim as his motions turn shallower.

 

Finally, Cas pushes himself deep inside, so fucking deep, touching places that jump and jolt, places within Dean that twitch his legs tighter around Cas’ waist. Cas collapses down onto him fully, chest-to-chest, panting against the side of Dean’s face as his knot at last, at long fucking last gets too large to pull back out. It knuckles up inside Dean even as Cas’ stomach grinds down against Dean’s spent dick, and Dean lets out a noise that might not even be sound as he comes while still soft, a pleasure-pain flash through his ass and skull that has little to do with his dick.

 

Throughout it all, Cas presses in and presses in and presses and pushes in one final thrust, like he could press Dean through the bed and into the foundations of his life. He groans and gasps, as arousing to the ears as he is to the nose and skin and eyes and tongue. Dean’s mate. Dean’s gorgeous weirdo dork of a mate who belongs to _Dean_ , Dean and no one else, Dean’s mate who is going to stay and want him and maybe love him and maybe, maybe, if Dean has won the fucking lottery of romance, maybe even respect him too while he’s at it.

 

“Dean,” Cas keeps saying, or something like it. “Dean, let me, let me, _Dean_.”

 

“Roll that knot around in me, babe,” Dean urges him on. He clenches hard, moves his hands down the sweat-damp line of Cas’ back. Grabs Cas’ ass and _pulls_. “Give it to me, Cas.”

 

Cas comes so hard and so loud it hurts Dean’s ear, but Dean’s beyond caring. They’re locked in, knotted. Cas collapses on him like he thinks Dean needs a human blanket right now. Dean lies there, legs spread wide, feet hooked around Cas’ thighs, hands twitching on the meat of Cas’ ass. He unfolds a little, shifting, rocking them together through the first minute of Cas’ extended orgasm. Cas groans again into Dean’s ear, a little quieter than before.

 

Dean tucks Cas’ head against the side of his still unbitten neck. Blood tests, STD screenings, all that shit they gotta get out of the way first. They have to do that to be truly mated, right? At least, that’s what the movies say, but who the fuck knows.

 

Cas, probably.

 

Cas, who said he was bonded to Dean from scent alone. Like the pheromone hit from a mating bite would only be the icing on the cake, the ice cream on the pie.

 

Dean flexes his thighs as well as he can, tensing and relaxing so they don’t seize up while he’s still splayed open around Cas. It’s a motion he does for himself, but Cas moans into his shoulder, a limp, satisfied mess.

 

Experimentally, Dean shifts even more. Cas scrapes his teeth against the side of Dean’s neck, prickling his skin with phantom sensations and stubble alike. Mostly, though, it’s a pointier form of nuzzling. Cas is relaxed and loose everywhere except for the fun bits, and he probably thinks the sex is over. Dean hasn’t gotten it up again so quick in over a decade, but if there’s ever going to be a time to try, it’s definitely now.

 

“Hey,” Dean says, petting Cas’ damp hair, getting Cas’ scent all over his hands. “Roll us over?”

 

Grumbling, Cas only presses him down harder. “Holding you.”

 

“Legs are cramping,” Dean lies.

 

With the laughable discontent of an Alpha trying to bask in the knotted afterglow, Cas maneuvers with him, a gasp punching out of his chest when Dean tugs against his knot too hard. Finally, after much pushing of pillows out of the way, Dean gets into his favorite position, straddling a locked knot with his hands free to roam.

 

Cas alternates between looking up at him and letting his eyes flutter shut. For a minute, Dean lets him. Cas’ hands wind up on both of Dean’s thighs, kneading the muscles, catering to Dean’s excuse through his own lethargy. There’s a faint hitch in his breath as Dean shifts forward, a vivid twitch in the muscles of his stomach. So gorgeous. The scrubs made him look soft. The suit made him look lean. He really isn’t either. He’s toned and touchable and all Dean’s.

 

“You still coming, Cas?” Dean asks in a quiet murmur.

 

Cracking open an eye, Cas hums his confirmation.

 

Slowly, watching intently and fighting down a smirk, Dean clenches his ass. He’s a little sore, but nowhere near oversensitive enough to stop him from doing this.

 

Cas’ eyes shoot open.

 

Smirk growing as inevitably as an Alpha’s knot, Dean shifts his hips in a tight circle.

 

Cas’ hands fly higher, up to Dean’s hips. The noise he makes is amazing, somewhere between sexy and hilarious.

 

“Tell me when it’s too much,” Dean warns, and he rises up incrementally even as he clenches down, squeezing and tugging at once on Cas’ knot.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas gasps, the word punched out of him.

 

“I can make you come harder.” Dean might not know what knot-edging feels like, but he knows he’s good at it. He knows he loves it, working an Alpha into a trembling mess when Dean’s the one who’s supposed to go all weak over a knot. “You can have your sleepy afterglow after your knot goes down. Right now, though, you’re hard inside me. You know what that means, Cas?”

 

It means Dean gets to play.

 

Nodding against a pillow, Cas answers, “Means I’m yours.”

 

Dean stares down at him and, without a clue how to reply, resumes fucking. Dean’s body is almost sure he’s sated, but his ego? Hell no.

 

Cas gives a full-body twitch like no one has ever done this to him before, like every other Omega he’s ever fucked gave into the urge to cuddle and didn’t take advantage of having Cas’ dick captive inside them. Good. Screw them. Dean gets to be special. Dean gets to watch the pleasure fluttering through his Alpha’s face as Cas fights to keep his eyes open. “D-Dean?”

 

“Tell me when it stops feeling good,” Dean orders, rolling Cas’ hard knot around inside him. He shifts for a selfish angle, but Cas ain’t complaining. Cas is twitching and blissed out the longer Dean goes, eyes half-closed, mouth slack. Dean gets him rubbing up against all the good spots, a tight grind that has Cas’ hands spasming on his hips.

 

Dean keeps going until his legs are trembling, and he keeps going even after that. The noise coming out of Cas is a hitching, keening mess, like he needs to come even while he’s already coming. Like he can’t orgasm hard enough to match what Dean’s doing to him. Cas thrusts up hard, sending Dean bouncing, tugging hard where they’re joined, and Cas actually shouts at what he’s done to himself. A fresh pulse of heat presses up inside Dean, the condom still filling in smaller and smaller bursts.

 

“ _Dean_.” Like it’s been punched out of him. Milked out of him. Like Dean can squeeze the adoration out of him with every roll of his hips and clench of his ass. “Dean, please.”

 

“Less or more?” Dean asks, honestly unable to tell. He holds as still as he can with Cas twitching up into him, jizzing up into him, holding him from the inside out and trying to fill him up with come.

 

“I,” Cas says, and that’s apparently as far as his brain gets. He’s flushed and sweaty, eyes unfocused.

 

“Breathe.” Dean runs his hands down Cas’ chest and sides, stroking, not teasing, and it’s only once he’s busy touching Cas that he realizes how much he needs to touch himself. He’s decades away from having this kind of refractory period, but that scent is something else, kicking him higher and higher into overdrive. Keeping his palms on Cas, he continues, “Breathe, you got this.”

 

Nodding in this tiny burst of movement, Cas sucks in air, chest heaving. Dean rides his body like a wave, the squelch of the condom strange inside him.

 

“Less or more?” Dean asks again, getting a bit breathless himself.

 

Cas keeps nodding, not the most helpful response.

 

Dean rolls his eyes in faux-nonchalance that Cas completely misses, his blue eyes already locked low, down where Dean’s locked around him. Down where Dean’s fisting himself nice and slow, starting to get hard again. Cas’ face flushes brighter and brighter, and he licks his lips like he’s fighting down a guilty secret.

 

“Say it,” Dean orders. When Cas doesn’t, Dean grinds down hard, pushing out a shout and a round of desperate thrusting—and not just from Cas. Dragging his hips in a tight circle and bearing down, Dean speeds up his hand on his cock. He’s slicking his own way just fine with pre-come, barely even needs to reach back for more natural lubrication. He doesn’t need to, except for the way Cas’ eyes roll back into his head at the sight.

 

“You want more, Cas? You wanna feel me come around your knot again?”

 

Even more nodding, even as Cas’ mouth twists like he’s about to cry. That’s freaky enough for Dean to slow down, for him to reach for Cas’ face and accidentally tug on that knot even harder. Gasping, Cas nuzzles into his hand, grasping with his mouth, biting to hold instead of to hurt. Dean can actually see Cas’ heart pounding like a tremor in his chest.

 

Dean forces himself still—as still as he possibly can with Cas still squirming beneath him—until Cas’ breathing evens out as much as it’s going to.

 

“Don’t stop,” Cas whispers against his palm, voice ruined. It’s rough and jagged, something that would cut Dean’s mouth if he tried to suck on it. “I want…” He flushes again, turning his face away, into Dean’s hand.

 

“Tell me.” It’s gotta be good if Cas is this embarrassed. “I’ll probably do it, just tell me.”

 

Cas groans but lets out in one guilty rush: “Come on me.”

 

Fuck. _Yes_.

 

Chin dropping as he jerks himself, Dean resumes the fucking. He forces Cas’ orgasm longer, keeps that knot hard inside him for his own personal use. “Alpha wants me to come on him?” Dean says, talking himself to full hardness. “Alpha wants my jizz all over his chest?”

 

Cas’ scent shifts before he can even turn his face away. Wrong track. Wrong fucking track, because Dean must not be the only one who doesn’t do humiliation play.

 

“That’s so fucking hot,” Dean says, making himself clear. “Gonna have my slick dripping down your lap, gonna have my come on your stomach, _fuck_ , you’re gonna smell like me forever. Gonna smell so mated. Walk down the street, get ‘em all jealous.”

 

Hands back on Dean’s trembling thighs, Cas rocks up under him harder and harder, straining as he nods and pants. He lifts himself and Dean up off the bed, back bowing, and Dean rides him all the way back down with an excited laugh. It’s so fun fucking. It’s so fucking fun. Dean pulls on his cock, twisting his hand over the head, pulls and twists, pulls and twists while he rocks and clenches, and then Cas’ hand closes over his, thick and strong and hot.

 

Dean starts chanting “Gonna come, gonna come” because, Jesus fuck, he actually is, he’s thirty-fucking-five and hard again on the scent of his _mate_ , he’s riding his Alpha— _his_ Alpha, _his—_ all the way to climax, he’s tense and shaking so damn hard and Cas keeps saying “Dean” like he can fit everything he’s ever wanted in just the one word. They’re grinding together, moving together, Cas still coming, Cas coming even harder, as hard as Dean can make him with a condom keeping them apart, and then the first pulse comes, the first dribbling spurt. All over Cas’ hand. Head thrown back, Dean stiffens and shakes. He leaks with all the come his dick can spare.

 

When he comes down, he crashes. Onto Cas. Against him, around him, ass tugging hard on Cas’ knot in an honestly unintentional pull. Cas fucking _howls_ as Dean catches himself on Cas’ shoulders. Tears drip down the sides of his face, from the corners of his eyes to his hairline. Dean gasps apologies, still shaking through it, but Cas shakes his head and fumblingly grabs one of Dean’s hands to kiss his knuckles.

 

“Perfect,” Cas whispers, hoarse and not even trying to wipe his face. “Not again, though.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Dean promises. They stare at each other like that, one post-orgasmic, one still coming. “Should stop before I break you.” And before he destroys whatever muscles are left in his own thighs.

 

Gently, gingerly, after a good, long pause for breathing and staring, after Dean grabs the edge of a blanket to wipe Cas’ stomach off; after they marvel at each other, scent drunk and stupid; after all of that, they manage to shift onto their sides, then get Dean onto his back. His legs are going to be screwed up either way, spread for so long, but down on his back with pillows stuck beneath his ass, he gets Cas against him properly. He gets sleepy, sated kisses and Cas stroking the side of his face like Dean is something special.

 

They kiss. They scent each other. They kiss some more. They pull blankets over their joined bodies, wrapping themselves together even tighter.

 

The silence is as warm and comfortable as the nest Cas has made them, but Dean speaks into it anyway.

 

“So glad we got that suit off you.”

 

Cas snorts against his shoulder. “Yes.” He inhales deeply, somehow pressing their chest together even more strongly while already lying on top of Dean. “This is good. This…” He noses at the side of Dean’s face until Dean gives him a kiss, as slow and wet as Cas’ receding knot. “This makes me _very_ happy, Dean. Are you…?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, pushing down the urge to play it off as no big deal. He can’t do it, not while still tied together. “Yeah, I’m good.” And he wraps his arms tighter around Cas’ back. Touches shoulder blades and spine and nape, touches skin and drying sweat and the places where the blankets try to cling to Cas the exact way Cas should be clung to.

 

They breathe each other in. Cas starts to shift inside Dean, and it’s a feat of will to prevent himself from acting up, from forcing Cas hard again the way Dean knows he can. He needs to separate pretty bad by this point, though, and the filled condom has got to be getting pretty nasty against Cas’ dick.

 

Grabbing on to a distraction, Dean asks, “Why the suit, anyway? Had a fancy thing this morning?”

 

Cas hums a negative, his face once again planted in the pillow beside Dean’s head. He shifts so his breath tickles Dean’s ear. “Just you.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, ignoring the sudden heat in his cheeks. “Uh-huh. So you took the whole day off to fuck me.”

 

Despite the orgasmic haze still suffusing his body and scent, Cas stiffens slightly, and not like he’s been caught out. His tone remarkably formal considering their position, Cas answers, “I thought it best if I came in at the end of your shift. I wanted to make sure you were finished.”

 

The motion a little uncertain, Dean strokes his hand up and down Cas’ side. He turns his head and they shift as much as they can to look at each other without their eyes crossing. “No distractions, huh. Considerate.”

 

Cas closes his eyes. Not in the slack way he does while caught in an elongated orgasm, not in a restful way. In a hiding way. “I wasn’t sure what your response would be.”

 

The lonesome scent still clinging to the bed says otherwise.

 

Dean presses in for a kiss. He tightens his legs around Cas’ too, and the kiss is remarkably light in contrast to the heat still inside Dean, now barely clinging to his rim.

 

“Also,” Cas eventually adds, clearly trying for some levity, “I didn’t think you’d have the rest of the day off, too.”

 

Dean blinks.

 

Oh.

 

Oh _shit_.

 

Cas must smell it on him or see the realization on Dean’s face, because he lifts up on one arm, guiding himself delicately out of Dean with only the faintest tug. Dean groans as everything shifts inside him, his body missing Cas already. He forces himself into motion, dragging himself with his arms across the blanketed, pillow-strewn mess of the bed before willingly tumbling off the side.

 

Tenderly sitting on a pile of discarded clothes, Dean sorts through them until he finds his phone. Cas comes crawling after him to chuck the tied-off condom into the waste bin, but then he stays, collapsed on his side and looking at Dean with more than a hint of anxiety. Leaning against the side of the bed, Dean reaches up to card a hand through Cas’ hair, to lean Cas’ head against his own while he presses his dialing phone against his opposite ear.

 

The proper answering protocol is a civil “Singer Repair and Restorations,” but Bobby’s caller ID must be working today. All he says when he picks up is a gruff “Yeah?”

 

Dean stops petting Cas’ hair to pull the nearest shirt over his bare crotch. He resumes the petting immediately after. “Hey, Bobby,” he says. “Family thing came up, I kinda need today off.”

 

Bobby’s tone changes in an instant. “What’s happened with Sam?”

 

“Sam’s fine,” Dean’s quick to say. “Talked to him last night, he’s good. I, uh-”

 

“If he’s fine and I’m fine—and I know I’m fine—then you’re coming in. Unless you got some more family to have a ‘family thing’ about.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says slowly, his fingers curling through Cas’ hair. Cas’ breath is quiet and warm at his temple as Cas listens in. “About that.”

 

There is a pause.

 

There is a long-suffering sigh.

 

“Is it the vet?” Bobby asks, somewhere between exasperated and bored.

 

Dean pulls his phone away from his ear, the better to stare at it. He stares at Cas, too, which is a mistake, because that much joy on a well-kissed face is devastating to Dean’s ability to focus. He puts the phone back to his ear. “What?”

 

“The community service vet,” Bobby repeats. “It him?”

 

“Yes,” Cas says loudly for him even as Dean says, “How the fuck do you know that?”

 

Bobby’s rolling eyes are audible over the phone. “Sam told me.”

 

“How the fuck does Sam know? _I_ didn’t know!”

 

“Made it fun watching you,” Bobby says. “There’s a reason I don’t bother leading you to water, ya idjit.”

 

Dean pushes Cas away by his stupid grinning face. At least the asshole has the grace to laugh silently. So much for Dean not having to tell people that he didn’t notice his mate being right in front of his own nose.

 

“Okay, fine, laugh it up,” Dean tells Bobby. “Do I get a honeymoon or not?”

 

“We’ll put it down as heat leave,” Bobby says.

 

Score. Paid vacation. “Thanks, Bobby.”

 

Bobby makes the grumbling kind of noises he thinks can deflect sincere gratitude. “I expect both of you on Saturday, usual time. That vet of yours know poker?”

 

Dean looks over at Cas, who shakes his head. “Nope,” Dean relays.

 

“Good,” Bobby says. “He can pay me back for your time off.”

 

Dean snorts. “I’ll warn him.”

 

“Uh-huh.” There’s a pause like an impending heart-to-heart, but Bobby brushes right by it the exact way Sam wouldn’t. “That everything? Some of us have work to get back to.”

 

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean promises, cutting to the meat of it. “See you Saturday, Bobby. Thanks.”

 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bobby says before hanging up, a much better way of saying _Be safe_.

 

Dean dumps his phone back on his discarded clothes with a sigh. He thunks his head back against the side of the bed and closes his eyes when Cas returns the petting.

 

“Should I call out for tomorrow, too?” Cas asks, voice soft and quiet.

 

Dean leans into the petting with a hum in the affirmative. “I’m on heat leave, ain’t I? Be pretty irresponsible of you, leaving me alone.”

 

“Calling it that won’t cause any trouble? What about when your actual heat comes?”

 

“I’m on suppressants,” Dean says, challenging Cas to argue with a glance.

 

But Cas, weirdo that he is, just nods. “You can tell your insurance company our meeting overcame your medication. There’s precedent. They should still reimburse your employer.”

 

Dean stares at him. Sitting on his aching ass, perched on a pile of clothes with a shirt across his lap, he stares at his Alpha, this bizarre person with his head resting on folded arms at the edge of their nest. Who took the day off and wore a suit and _expected_ Dean to make his own choices.

 

“What?” Cas asks, like he can’t tell that Dean just fell in love with him.

 

“Nothing,” Dean says. “It’s just a good idea, that’s all.”

 

Shifting around on his knees, Dean folds his arms next to Cas’. He kneels there on the floor, elbow-to-elbow with Cas on the bed, cheek on his arms, looking Cas in the half-lidded eyes. It’s all vaguely upside-down.

 

“That was your foster father, wasn’t it?” Cas asks.

 

“Mm-hm.” It’s not how Dean thinks of him, hadn’t been even when Dean was still a minor, but it’s still true. “You’ll meet everyone else on Saturday. Hate to break it to you, but you just joined a whole family of assholes, Cas.”

 

Cas smiles back at him anyway. “I’ll live.” He pushes himself up, the muscles of his arms shifting enticingly. Completely naked and excellently fucked is a good look on him. “Come back to bed?” he asks, like there’s a chance Dean might say no.

 

“Need the bathroom first,” Dean says, just to see how Cas responds.

 

Cas points at a door in the wall Dean hadn’t even noticed. There are three in total, including the one to the hall that never got properly latched. “That’s the bathroom. That’s the closet. Don’t confuse them.”

 

“Got it,” Dean says. Standing up is more difficult than it should be, but he makes it without falling, pain in his legs or not. Cas watches him with an affectionate awe that has no relation to the typical post-coital Alpha smugness.

 

While Dean’s in the bathroom, he can hear Cas moving around the bedroom. When Dean emerges, the door to the hall is securely shut, Cas is back in boxers, and the Alpha’s busy hanging up his suit in the closet. Still completely naked, Dean leans back against the door jamb to watch. He’s got no problems with the view until Cas finishes with the suit and pulls back on his undershirt.

 

“Thought you wanted more nest time,” Dean says.

 

“I do,” Cas says with a sigh, almost petulant at the delay, “but I left the danishes in the car.”

 

Dean actually laughs. “Leave ‘em. They’ll keep.”

 

“I promised you food,” Cas says, like that’s more important than nesting. He’s reaching for a fresh button-down before Dean approaches, using his bare body as the compelling argument he knows it is. His aching thighs turn his gait even more bow-legged than usual.

 

“I’ll keep too.”

 

Nostrils flared, Cas shakes his head with obvious effort. “Dean, you’ve done things to me I’ve only seen in porn. I want to pamper you. And there’s things we should discuss, and-”

 

“Later,” Dean says. “We can talk over food. But right now, I gotta lie down and I don’t want to do it alone.”

 

Smelling relieved and happy, smelling like Dean and like sex with Dean, Cas smiles at him. “I suppose I don’t have anything else to do today.”

 

“We got time,” Dean agrees, sure of it, and he draws his mate back to bed.  

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! Thanks to everyone for reading, and thank you to [Vyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc) for being a supportive beta.
> 
> Now, seeing as I've posted 24 times in the past 26 weeks (half a year!), I'm going to be taking a break for a little bit. Don't worry, I'm still writing! Also, with this chapter, I now have over _one million_ words on AO3. Accomplishments!
> 
> To see what else I'm up to or get (potentially) faster responses to questions and comments, follow me on [tumblr](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


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